Where it Doesn't Show
by Wynja2007
Summary: With one son on about to make an advantageous alliance and the others doing well, Thranduil should be content. Yet he cannot shake the fear that one day either his sons will disappoint him, or he they... What's more, a shadow is growing over the forest, and rumours of fire come from the north... NOTE: May contain M/M parings and other adult content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: of Fathers and Sons

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, a tribute to the Lord of the Rings. I acknowledge I have no rights of ownership to the characters or the settings and that I only own my original content and interpretations.**

'One day, you will disappoint me, for that is the way of things; sons disappoint their fathers. And fathers disappoint their sons, also, and so the day will come when you realise that, while you cannot criticise your king, you can, and will, find fault with your father.'

The three elves looked at each other. Their father did this sometimes, reminding them that nobody was perfect, neither he nor they. The lecture usually came after one of them had done something worthy of approval. Or disapproval, and that happened more often.

'But today you have not disappointed me. Today I hear that all three of you have, instead, achieved deeds of note. Legolas' skill with the bow increases; he outmatched even the tutors today, so I hear. Tharmeduil has completed his current tour of duty with our patrols successfully, and Iauron has told me there is a lady with whom he would be happy to make alliance.'

At Tharmeduil's side, Iauron seemed to sag around the shoulders. With relief, Legolas assumed. Iauron was the oldest, and although any of the three could one day rule after Thranduil, preference would be given to the one who could ensure the succession. Besides, Iauron wanted it most, whereas Legolas didn't want it at all.

'This news pleases me,' Thranduil went on, 'both as a father and a king. Iauron, we will make arrangements to send a delegation to solicit the lady's interest through her parents. You may go. You, also, Tharmeduil. Legolas, I would like to speak with you privately…'

Thranduil turned his back on his three sons as he mounted the steps up to his throne, allowing time for the older two to withdraw. Allowing time for Legolas to compose himself and conquer the dread Thranduil knew would be racing in his heart.

Of them all, Legolas was most like him. Perhaps that was why he found it difficult not to be so harsh with his youngest child.

And yet he delighted in his sons. Years past, he had played with them and laughed with them, carried them on his hip and set them before him on his steed, each in their turn, had cherished every moment of their growth from infanthood through childhood. But as they grew, so his relationship with them had to change. He was their loving father, yes. But he was also their king, and so, these days, it was rare that they saw him without his regal impassivity in place. He felt a pang of loss; Legolas had been such a happy child and now he was a young adult who smiled, but rarely laughed.

Thranduil wondered, feared, whether that was his fault.

By the time he turned to take his seat on the throne, he had composed himself into his formal expression. He crossed one knee over the other and beckoned briskly, not looking at his son as he did so.

'Legolas, approach.'

Legolas climbed the steps warily, coming to a halt on the platform below the dais of the throne. His eyes would be level with his father's chest, should he look up. At present, however, fearing the topic of this conversation, he had no wish to do so.

'Legolas.'

His father's voice drew his attention and he could no longer avoid the eye contact. Did his father know? But then, why not say something in front of the others, for this would surely be counted as a disappointment if he were to be found out…

'My lord?'

'What do you know about Iauron's new-found love?'

Legolas caught his breath. Such a relief! He tried to answer with composure, delivering the information as if it were a report.

'She is of the Imladris families. I am not entirely certain how they came to meet, and I do not know her myself. That she is more to him than just an adventure I had not known, either, but he has been saying for some months now that it was time he made a commitment to the future of the kingdom. Tharmeduil thought Iauron meant adding more weapons training to his routine, but…'

'Imladris? Well, it could be worse, I suppose. Enough. On the subject of adventures…'

'Yes, lord?' This was it; his father was about to launch into a stream of invective on the topic of his behaviour and tastes and he really, really did not want to have to explain…

'I hear there was an incident in Lake Town… at one of the… hostelries…'

'Yes, lord?'

'Indeed, and it would bode well for you were you to warn your brothers that while I have no objections to them dissipating their energies at such places, it is of paramount importance that no stain of shame be brought back to the Kingdom. This time we have managed to ah… suitably recompense the young – I hesitate to say 'lady' – in question, but this house cannot be forever smoothing over such behaviour.'

'I'll pass the message on, lord.'

'Good. I note with some interest that you were not part of these… festivities.'

'No, lord, I had… other business…' Legolas swallowed, hoping he wasn't going to be asked what that business might be.

'Legolas.' Thranduil rose from his seat and joined his son, the mask of impassivity vanishing so that by the time he was near enough to lay his hand lightly on Legolas' shoulder, the king had retreated entirely and the father alone stood there. 'As your king, I have a responsibility towards the populace to ensure they do not lose faith in our leadership. As your father, all I want is for you to be happy. And if you do not join in your brothers' brothel parties, I admit to a certain relief. But I cannot shake the notion that you did not stay away simply because you wished to undertake further weapons practice…'

'I'm not over-fond of… brothels,' Legolas said, and edge of desperation to his voice.

'I'm pleased to hear it,' Thranduil said. 'One can pick up all manner of infection from such places! 'All I ask, my son, is that you are discreet. Choose your companion wisely.'

'Father, I…'

'There are many of our kindred in Middle-Earth who are alone. Their spouses are dead, or have sailed west and so the marriage has ended. Such a one, a more mature person, would make an admirable and unexceptional partner. With experience comes subtlety and discretion, and you need not fear exposure from an older lover.' Thranduil gave the smallest of shrugs and smiled at his son's astonishment. 'Just be happy, Legolas. Find joy in the physical expression of affection.'

Legolas shook his head, wanting to deny the things his father was hinting, knowing that to do so would be a lie and that such dishonesty was not in his nature. He had been expecting censure and fury when his weakness was discovered, not advice and kindness.

'Thank you!' he said, finally, and Thranduil pulled him in for a swift, fierce hug. For as long as it lasted, Legolas felt loved and valued and cherished, and then it was over, his father was turning to seat himself on the throne once more.

For the briefest of moments, his eyes were warm. And then the king's mask descended once more.

'I would like you to join the next patrol against the arachnids, Legolas,' Thranduil said. 'See the commander and ask for an archer's rank; I don't want you pushed into leading yet just because you are the king's son. I'd prefer you to have a little more open hand work first.

'Yes, Sire.'

Legolas ran down the steps, his heart lighter than it had been in days, and the king watched him go with fatherly pride.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Trips, Traps and Trees

Chapter Two: Of Trips, Traps and Trees

Tharmeduil was waiting outside the throne room, pacing. He looked up as he heard Legolas' light footsteps. Less tall than his brother and with lowlights in his hair taking it into a dark, almost mousy blond, still one could see the family resemblance in the shape of the nose and the intensity of gaze, although here, too, Legolas had the advantage.

Tharmeduil reached out to clasp his brother's hand, light blue eyes concerned.

'What did Ada say? I swear, I have no idea how your secret got out… I heard no shouting, he didn't rage, at least…?'

Legolas shook his head. 'It wasn't about me,' he said. 'Come.'

He led the way through the intricate corridors towards one of the many private chambers, making sure the door was fastened after them. There was usually someone or other walking the corridors, and to be overheard would be uncomfortable.

'You have to be more careful, Tharmeduil! He knows all about your trips to the bawdy houses in Lake Town! And Iauron had better stop completely, if he's serious about his lady…'

'I'll let you tell Iauron that!'

'He wouldn't take it from me – he'd think of me as just a dog in the manger. More to the point, I won't be here – I'm on Spider Patrol for the next sennight…'

'What did you do to deserve that?'

'I don't mind. It's an interesting challenge and it makes the forest feel better.'

'What else did Ada say?'

'He wanted to ask what I knew of the lady.'

'Not about her – you. Does he know? Was he very… disappointed?'

'I told you; it wasn't about me,' Legolas insisted. 'I have to go, I need to seek the patrol commander.'

'Legolas…!'

But with a quick smile, Legolas slipped from the chamber and headed out to the practice grounds where he was pretty sure he could find those commanders not currently on patrol.

Hunting spiders required agility of mind and body; four limbs against eight, two eyes against many. One had to be able to twist and turn in the air, to change tactics in a heartbeat, to listen to the rhythm of one's own body in counterpoint to one's environment, to learn what was caused by oneself and what was the result of a spider's approach.

So Legolas was hardly surprised when, on arrival at the training ground, he found the archery targets unattended, the empty-hand circle… well, empty, and the trees ringing the arena were bowing under the weight of grey shadows in their uppermost regions. The shadows were moving with an odd, swaying rhythm and didn't seem to making any real progress through the branches.

There was a certain knack to trees. The Sylvan elves of the Woodland Realm had it, and guarded it fiercely from the Noldor and Teleri, sharing it only with the Sindar who made their homes amongst them. So Legolas knew it, and used it now, running to the ring of trees and laying his hand swiftly on the bark of a sturdy oak, sending his perceptions in. He whispered a few soft words, feeling the connection as the tree became aware of him, accepted his presence, and then he began to climb.

Wherever he put his foot, or his hand, there was always a knot hole or a branch waiting for him as the tree became complicit in his ascent. His senses honed from decades, centuries of practice, Legolas felt as if he was flowing up through the tree until he reached its canopy and his golden head poked through the crown of leaves to feel glinting sunshine and a rocking breeze soughing around him.

He rested for a moment, enjoying the air, savouring the freedom and riding the soft swaying of the canopy.

From the left, a voice hailed him, and he turned in acknowledgement.

'Commander Bregon! Greetings!' he called out, recognising the gold brown hair and strong features of the waving figure. 'Is it your patrol next out?'

'It is we, indeed,' Bregon began to surf through the canopy towards Legolas, moving lightly and swiftly across the trees between them. 'We leave an hour before dusk; there's an established nest we've been targeting and it's just about ripe for the plucking.'

'My father told me to beg a place in your ranks.'

Bregon nodded. 'I had word of it; as his majesty wishes, of course. I'd be honoured to stand down in your favour…'

Legolas knew this was a courtesy Bregon couldn't avoid; had he not offered to turn over command to his prince, it could be considered an almost treasonous insult. He hastened to shake his head.

'No, Bregon; my father made a point of telling me I need more experience before I'm ready to have other lives than my own in my hands. I'm just your bowman, Commander.'

'Thank you,' Bregon said. 'I'll admit, that makes my task easier. Come, let's see if you can make to the forest floor without setting off any of the traps…'

Legolas grinned as he followed Bregon's gaze. He understood, now, the strange rhythm of the tree tops; trip lines, meant to simulate the warning strands of a spider web, had been strung through the trees to ensnare the unwary. From the look of things, more than a few of the patrol had allowed their attention to slip.

'Don't worry; they're not all as inept as this makes them seem.' Bregon gave an easy wink. 'We're also practising how to free ourselves, should we become entangled. Take that chestnut, there. I'll be in the one adjacent.'

Legolas pushed his way to the tree Bregon had indicated and dropped through the canopy to spread his weight amongst the thin branches stretching out from the crown. It being spring in the woods, great creamy candles of blossom made a chandelier of the chestnut tree, each flower spike with its pink centred florets busy with bees and other insects. Legolas smiled, took hold of the branches beneath his feet, and read the tree…

He dropped the first twenty feet with ease, slithering through the branches like a greased woodpigeon, hugging the trunk. A sense of alteration reached him from the sapient layer of the tree, and he stayed his descent, clinging with fingertip precision as he re-examined the bark beneath… yes. Not a foot's length from where he had stopped, a grey snake of sticky rope twined the trunk; he would have to head across to one of the main branches and drop to beneath the trip line… and as he reached out, he saw the glimmer and gleam of more tangled cords. So instead of gripping the branch, he launched himself at it, pushed at it with the heels of his hands and gained enough momentum to power a leap back, twisting in the air to reach out once more… the thought flashed through his mind that nothing would make him more one of the crowd than to end up swathed in mock-spidersilk, but the thought was humiliating and so he found the perfect handhold on another branch and swung himself through and down and between the dangers to land lightly and all-but silently on one of the lower branches.

A rough cheer went up from somewhere amongst the foliage, and he grinned for a moment, about to make the final leap to the ground… and just in time saw the trip line woven between the roots. Spotting his landing place to the side of the last trap, he jumped the final few feet and went to join Bregon, waiting with mock-surprise on his face.

'Nicely done!' the commander said with approval in his voice. 'You know your way around a tree, at least. Come and meet my second. We call him Thiriston Cut-Face…'

'Oh?' They were heading across to where a powerful figure was waiting with two or three patrol members, stripping the last strands of mock-spidersilk from their hair and laughing at them. 'How did he earn the name? He doesn't look scarred.'

'Well, now. Some of the scars my patrol carries are where you can't see. But as for Thiriston, it's just that's what he threatens to do to anyone who looks twice at his lover.' Bregon nodded towards a fair-faced elf with strong shoulders, rich, wide eyes and braided chestnut hair. 'And so I tell all my newcomers, irrespective of preference or rank: don't take liberties with pretty bowman Canadion over there, or you might end up less pretty yourself. No offence.'

'None taken.'


	3. Chapter 3: Parental Responsibilities

Chapter Three: Parental Duties

'Arveldir, is the… ah… young lady here?'

Thranduil kept the dispassionate regal mask in place as he looked down at his advisor. Arveldir had served for so many years, however, that the slight twist of amused interest at the corner of Thranduil's mouth didn't escape his notice.

'She is indeed, sire. Conveyed in a covered cart, as you requested, and the healers sent to accompany her here assure me she has suffered no hurt from the journey.'

'Good. Tell me, do you know how this came to be? And I do not refer to matters of the avians and the insects; I want to know my sons' involvement!'

'Once the …lady had attracted their interest, she agreed to hold herself exclusively for their entertainment. A small cottage was hired for her convenience under an assumed name…'

'They show some discretion, at least.'

'The inevitable having happened, the lady is concerned for her future employment prospects.'

'She wants money, of course.'

'Of course. And more than that; the future of her child to be secured, should it prove to be a peredhel. Of which she is certain, and the healers support her claims.'

'And so the only question remaining is which one of my tedious sons is responsible…'

'Oh, I think we can rule one of them out immediately, sire.'

A look of burning frost met his gaze. Thranduil's voice was sharper, colder than icicles. 'Your meaning, Arveldir?'

Perhaps Lord Thranduil hadn't heard the rumours about his youngest son? Or perhaps he had, and Arveldir had simply gone too far. He swallowed, and tried to salvage the situation.

'Prince Iauron is interested in an alliance with the Imladris families, I understand? He would surely not jeopardise his suit by causing such a scandal…'

Arveldir breathed again as Thranduil nodded.

'We would hope so, certainly. And the woman, does she know the identity of her… employers?'

'Simply that they are of this household and she believes them to be kinsmen. As to whom… she seems to have formed an idea which we can only hope is mistaken…'

'I will see her whenever she is ready. Do make her wait outside for fifteen minutes first, though. Provide a seat and allow her to be attended by a healer. Overwhelm her with consideration.' Thranduil waved a hand. 'As soon as you like, Arveldir.'

'My lord.' Arveldir bowed and retreated as quickly as was decorous to be about his king's bidding.

Left alone with only the attendant guards at the perimeter of the room, Thranduil got to his feet and descended the steps that led up to his throne. He needed to stretch his long, elegant legs after too much time spent sitting and he crossed the chamber to where a small table held simple refreshments; a bowl of fruit, a goblet, a jug of water and a decanter of rich burgundy wine. It was past the midday hour, and so not too early for a mouthful of wine.

It was heady and wicked with its promise of delight, the flavours sensuous and blended so innocuously as to make the wine seem mere cordial, and he savoured its delicate richness. He picked at a few grapes and wiped his slender fingers on a napkin before refilling his goblet.

Presently, he heard the shift as his guards stood to attention, a sign that someone was approaching the throne room, and soon, Arveldir spoke from the distant doorway.

'Your majesty, I have brought the woman as you desired.'

Knowing that Arveldir, and the unfortunate woman, could see him from where they undoubtedly had stopped near the entrance, he raised his hand in casual acknowledgement before turning and, carrying his goblet of wine with him, made his way slowly back to the base of the steps.

Rather than speak to the woman from the regal height of his throne, thus compelling her to climb the steps in her condition, he turned to face her across the expanse of floor and inclined his head slowly in her direction.

'Thank you, Arveldir. Have someone bring a chair for the… lady.'

Under his cool scrutiny, the woman –barely past being a child herself, he thought – lifted her chin in an attempt at defiance, remembered this was an elven king she was facing, flushed, and curtseyed. Servants brought a low bench and set it down behind her, and Thranduil waved her to sit.

'You must take care in your situation. Do you have a name?'

'Flora… your m… majesty.'

'Flora. I understand you require certain… recompense for loss of potential earnings caused by some of my household?'

She nodded briefly.

'And do you know whom?'

'Erm…' Flora glanced around, aware of the other occupants of the chamber. 'I… do you really want me to…?'

'Arveldir, clear the chamber. You may remain.' Thranduil waited for the guards and the healer to withdraw before nodding at Flora. 'Please continue.'

'They're brothers, three of them, your majesty. One didn't often come along, and he said he preferred the horses… to stay with them…'

'And did they all…?'

'No, just the one. I brought a friend or two with me for the other. Mine was very tall…'

'But not the tallest?' Thranduil asked, making his voice kind. Over the woman's shoulder, he saw Arveldir shake his head in despair; Iauron was the tallest of the brothers. 'Think with care, child. I know of the family you name; the tallest son, the oldest, will shortly have a family of his own to be responsible for and will not be in a position to offer you any support. Is it, perhaps, possible that you may have been mistaken?'

'M… mistaken, your majesty?'

'About the height of your… companion. Is it not said that all persons are the same height, lying down?'

There was a long silence after this and Thranduil saw Flora frown in concentration as she assessed her options. Really, he had nothing against her as an individual, it was simply that she was offering him a problem which could reflect very badly on Iauron…

'If you'll forgive the impertinence, your majesty,' Flora whispered. 'It has also been said, amongst my people, that all elves look alike…'

Arveldir turned a laugh into a cough and met the icy ire of his king's glare.

'Perhaps so.' Thranduil said. 'But of these brothers, it would be better for your child to own but one absent parent, rather than three potential fathers. Better for you, as well, one would think.'

She flushed again.

'Tell me more of the one who stayed with the horses?'

'I liked his ways! He was… prettiest, perhaps. Nice. Spoke to me like I was a real person… He didn't… which means, of course, he couldn't be…'

'Perhaps the least said the better. If your pretty one has no objections, why should you?'

'Well…'

'Arveldir?' Thranduil waved his advisor forward and chose this moment to climb the steps to his throne. 'Proceed.'

'We will acquire permanently for you the lease on the cottage. We will ensure that your health needs are met and that you do not want for food or clothing or heat. Once the child is born, assuming it to be peredhel – half-elven – we will arrange for it to be placed with an appropriate family. Or you can take over responsibility yourself, in which case once you are delivered, we no longer will have any responsibility towards you or the infant. Is this acceptable to you?'

'I… well…'

'You should take a little time to consider your options. You may stay in the healers' wing overnight, should you wish to,' Arveldir went on. 'I will speak to you in the morning. May I return you to the healers, now?'

A little bewildered by events, Flora got to her feet and made another awkward curtsey to the king and allowed Arveldir to lead her out of the throne room and hand her over to the healer waiting outside.

Alone, Thranduil shook his head. Iaruon was the tallest of his sons, and undoubtedly responsible. And the prettiest, the one who watched the horses and who never, ever had bothered with the ladies? Legolas, of course.

Presently, the guards waiting outside repopulated their positions, and Arveldir came back into the throne room.

'My lord, Iaruon is outside if you've a moment to speak with him.'

For a moment, Thranduil was tempted to claim to be too busy to see his son; it would serve Iauron right, after causing this mess, to keep him hanging…

'We made sure he did not see Mistress Flora, but he has heard she was here, and admitted to some surprise. Will you see him now?'

It had never been Thranduil's way to put things off, and Iauron really deserved a lecture.

'Very well, send him in. I should imagine he will be yet more surprised to learn he is to be an uncle.'

Thranduil permitted himself the luxury of a smile. But possibly not nearly so surprised as Legolas would be to learn he was going to be a father.


	4. Chapter 4: Of Headaches and Healers

Of Headaches and Healers

Tharmeduil's head had started aching again.

It was not the stress of the awkward interview with his father earlier. Nor was it that he had been drinking the night before; it wasn't that he'd been doing tedious work. He'd simply been reading some scrolls in his room, but not for long and not in poor light, and he had, in fact, decided to get a breath or air when the headache hit. Still, there was no reason at all why he should have a headache, but there it was; twin points of agony behind his eyes, almost blinding in its intensity, causing his head to swim and his vision to blur… he shook his head to try to clear his sight, but all that happened was that the pain exploded and he had to reach out and grab the wall for support.

'My prince?' The voice was solicitous, one of the many voices that clamoured suddenly in his mind. 'Prince Tharmeduil?'

…No, it wasn't voices, it was a roaring. It rose up and howled and raged in his head and he saw the floor coming up towards him…

'Help me, here, someone!' the voice urged, and suddenly hands had him and then so did the darkness.

_The roaring was everywhere, in his ears and in his head, in his heart. It was the rage of the ocean, the roar of the sea. It was wildness and ferocity and fire and danger and it was rescue and solace and comfort after… gradually it subsided, and all that was left was the rustle of the wind in the trees…_

The rustle of trees whispered from somewhere outside himself. There was something cool and soothing over his eyes, and as he lifted a hand to discover what it might be, a warm touch took his fingers and placed them back at his side.

'Just rest, my prince.' A hand on his patted kindly. 'You've been brought to the healers' hall; you were taken ill just outside the private living quarters.'

He tried to speak, to ask, but the voice hushed him.

'I'm about to remove the cloth over your eyes, my prince, but the curtains are drawn to dim the room.'

Tharmeduil found his voice.

'Why so?'

'When you were brought in, we heard you speak of a raging pain in your head…'

'I do not remember.'

'It happens, at times, that such pain will cause forgetfulness.' The hand retreated and the cloth was taken from across his closed eyes. 'How does your head feel now?'

Tharmeduil thought for a moment. 'Full, somehow… and now I am aware that there has been pain, but now it is gone.'

'And with your eyes open, my prince?'

His lids were heavy, but he opened his eyes to the dimness of the curtained room.

'This, too, is better.'

'Permit me.' The healer adjusted pillows, helped him to slowly sit up, and moved to stand at his bedside, her hands folded neatly together in elegant stillness. 'Do you recognise me, my prince?'

He sought for a name. Of course he should know her, she was one of the healers and he must have known her for many years… He did know her, one of his favourites amongst the healers there.

'Healer Nestoril. You brought me and Legolas through the winter fevers when we were small.'

She smiled at his recognition and at the memory. 'And you would not see the need to stay in your beds, and it was only when we put both your beds in the same room that you began to behave yourselves…'

'Ha, that's so! We were a sore trial to you!'

She inclined her head and turned away to work at a counter in the corner, returning presently with a glass containing a clear green liquid.

'This will clear you head and refresh you. I'd then like you to rest for an hour or so. If you will, my prince?'

'I'm old enough now to apprecieate the wisdom of obeying the healers.' Tharmeduil smiled, took the draught and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, pulling a face at the bitterness. 'But, Mistress Nestoril, it's disgusting! Must I drink all of it?'

She nodded, her mouth solemn but her eyes amused.

'Take your time. I'll be back later.'

He waited until Nestoril had left the room and closed the door after herself before braving a couple more mouthfuls of the herbal draught, casting his mind back. What had happened…? Oh, yes…

_He'd parted from Legolas and gone to his room to study for an hour; he'd been reading some of the old records. Fire drakes and monstrous spiders, far worse than the spiders encroaching on the Woodland Realm they'd had in those days…_

_Perhaps he'd spent too long over the rolls of parchment, because he'd felt the need for fresh air and had escaped his chamber, heading for the nearest door and intending to take a walk in the gardens when suddenly he'd had the headache again, twin points of pain…_

_But this time he didn't remember the pain; he remembered the images and the sounds and the colours…_

He came out of the memory and tried to focus on the images, but they were insubstantial shadows. He had an impression of sound, a roaring, rushing, raging torrent of noise… and then there were fires burning… everything was black and red and then faded to the soft greys of ash blown on the wind into a grey mist on a grey sea and a silent ship with silver sails…

Tharmeduil shook his head very carefully and set down the empty glass. Whatever had been in that draught?

Still propped up against the pillows, he allowed his eyes to close and his mind to drift again. The healer had said she would return, and that he should rest until then. But she had also said the draught would refresh him, and instead he simply felt very tired and very relaxed. He took a deep breath, held it for a second or two, and released it. He was calm now, as calm as a grey ship with silver sails on pewter seas…


	5. Chapter 5:Of Ill-Timed Scolds

**Chapter Five: Of Sons and Fathers and Ill-Timed Scolds**

'Your father will spare you some time,' Arveldir said. 'And you will excuse me – I have other duties.'

Iauron gulped. There was something in the advisor's tone that worried him. He was already unsettled enough as, when leaving the healers' hall, he was sure he'd seen Flora being ushered into one of the rooms – he would have stopped to ask what she was doing there, but that taking the news of Tharmeduil's sudden collapse must be his first priority.

He tried to pull himself together. Yes. Tharmeduil's health was of far more importance. Straightening his tunic, he took a breath and entered the throne room. Adar wasn't seated on his throne – which must be good, he would be more approachable at eye level – except that even as the thought formed, Iauron caught sight of his royal father stalking back and forth across the chamber in front of the windows. There was a feral elegance to his stride and as he turned to look at his son, Iauron was reminded of deadly midwinter blizzards and the howl of the night winds.

'We were speaking earlier, Iauron…' Thranduil savoured his son's name, enunciating every vowel and consonant with fearful clarity. 'We were on the topic of parental approval and I noted that today I was not disappointed in my sons.'

Suddenly he was at Iauron's shoulder, his voice in his ear.

'I may have spoken prematurely.'

Iauron couldn't prevent a roll of his eyes even as his bowels threatened to liquefy in fear. Trust Adar to pick now, of all moments, to deliver his favourite lecture…

He tried to head his father off.

'Indeed, I am a thorn in your side, sire, probably, and have utterly failed you, but…'

'Do you even know why I am so displeased? Can you begin to imagine the… the shame your actions could bring on this house? I doubt it; I do not think you have anything like the wit required to comprehend…'

'Yes, but Adar…'

'Do not presume to interrupt me!'

Was that strange unsteadiness beneath Iauron's feet actually the ground shaking? Or was it merely himself quaking? He gave up trying to deliver the message, submitting to the fury of his father's disappointment.

'I had thought that this morning would have provided an appropriate moment for you to warn me that there would be matters to clear away before I approach Imladris concerning your forthcoming alliance. I would have thought it to have been a perfect moment to mention that you and your brothers have been causing more trouble. You should understand by now that, as the oldest, it is your duty to set an example…'

Iaruon stopped listening once his father had used the word 'brothel' at least twice. Was it so bad if he and Tharmeduil rode out every now and then? They always paid for any damages and never gave their names…

'Well?' Adar's voice was deceptive, panther-paw soft. 'I await with interest your explanation of how I find myself playing host to a brothel girl who goes by the name of Flora? And why does Arvedil receive angry messages about elves overrunning the hostelries in Laketown?'

What? Iauron swallowed and realised the only way to get out of this and to deliver his message was going to be to confess.

To everything.

'She's not what you think, Flora isn't from any of the… hostelries. We came upon her in the streets one night, being harassed by a couple of men who'd made the same mistake themselves. We – the three of us were riding through together – interrupted. Of course, she was grateful, and when I was next in Laketown…' He lifted his eyes defiantly. 'She didn't know who we were, and she was simply grateful for her rescue. It may have been wrong for me to permit it, but she wished to offer freely what had almost been taken by force. We began to meet more often. I never thought… and then one day she said she had to stop seeing me, her father didn't like it. That was two months ago, and if I've been spending more time than I should in the brothels since, it's only because I'd become used to female companionship and it was better than loneliness.' He shrugged. 'May I now, please Adar, give you the message I came to deliver and you can carry on yelling at me later?'

Thranduil sighed. Not a common whore after all, just a silly girl grateful to her rescuer and entranced by a pair of pointed ears… he must update Arveldir about the girl's status as soon as he had a moment…

'What could possibly be of such moment as to take precedence over my intention to thrust you into a barrel and feed you through the bung hole for several decades until you discover some small measure of responsibility for your actions?'

'My brother Tharmeduil was taken ill earlier in the corridors outside his rooms. The healers are tending him…'

'Why did you not say so? Of all your foolishness, this is the most wanton! Arveldir!' He snapped his fingers at one of the attendant guards as he strode out of the room. 'Send my advisor to me at once!'

Iauron followed, swept up in the tail wind of Thranduil's urgency. Arveldir came hurrying towards them from one of the side corridors. 'Sire, I am still trying to locate Prince Legolas but have not yet…'

'Have the document drawn up. Increase the generosity of the terms; this was not, I now learn, an occupational misadventure for Mistress Flora but an occurrence which could have far more impact on her future life.'

'Yes, sire, as you wish. May I ask…?'

'Tharmeduil is in with the healers. When finally you locate my other son, inform him of the fact.'

'Sire, I'll attend to it immediately and I will keep seeking the prince.' Arveldir inclined his head and turned down the next corridor.

'Adar, can I ask? What about Flora?'

Thranduil exhaled steadily to calm himself. The fact of the matter was he disliked his own rages and made every effort to moderate them. He was already repenting his ire.

'We will provide for her, of course. Once the peredhel is born…'

'Peredhel…? She's…?'

'Did you not wonder why I was quite so enraged? Obviously you cannot own responsibility and so we…'

'Adar? No! Of course I'll acknowledge the child, I…'

'You will make no alliance with the Imladris lady if you do.' Thranduil waived an airy hand. 'Marry the human, own the child, do as you please. She will be dead in a handful of decades and you can then consider making alliances…'

'What? But I can't do that! She's a human and… her father wouldn't like it!'

'No, and it must be said, Iauron, that neither would your father! She has allowed herself to be persuaded that you all look alike to her and she rather thinks the child may belong to one of your brothers…'

'But… that's not right!'

'At least you can show an avuncular interest. Of course, we need the agreement of your brother on the subject.'

'And if he's ill…'

Thranduil turned to hold Iauron's gaze, his eyes mocking. 'Oh, not Tharmeduil. Flora expressed a preference for Legolas. She thinks him rather pretty.'

'Legolas?' Iauron echoed. 'But…'

'Indeed. Who knew? Iauron, I know this solution doesn't please you. But it's the best that can be done. Accept it, or marry her, without her father's consent if needs be. I would be content to disapprove silently if you really wish to proceed.'

'How long do I have to decide?'

'Until we reach the end of the corridor.' Thranduil looked at him with amused fatherly eyes. 'You know, if you really wanted the woman, you would have already decided.'

Iauron's head dropped. No wonder his father was ashamed of him; he was ashamed of himself. No, he couldn't marry a human woman, not even Flora. Humans didn't last very long and he really didn't want to spend decades getting to know someone only to have them die just as he was warming up.

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder compelling him to halt. Thranduil was looking anxiously into his eyes, all trace of majesty gone from his face.

'My son. We can all make mistakes. The trick of success is to make as few as possible and to learn from them. In all things, Flora's well-being will be considered and her wishes taken into account. You can speak to Arveldir about the details of the settlement we will make and although it will not compensate for her situation or make her happy, still, she will find being unhappy in great luxury is not quite so bad as in poverty.'

'I'm not going to be able to see her again, am I?'

'Do you think it would add to her happiness if you did?'

'Probably not.' Iauron straightened his shoulders as his father released him. 'But I already wasn't going to see her again anyway.'

'Well done. Tell me, what do you know of Tharmeduil's illness?'


	6. Chapter 6: Bonding

**Chapter Six: Bonding**

'We're heading to the barracks canteen now for the day meal, if you want to join us, my prince?' Bregon suggested.

'Thank you. Of course I will. While I'm with you, please pass the word to just call me by name; I doubt my title will have much significance for the spiders, in any event.'

It would do him good to spend time amongst the company before he actually travelled with them; he'd not been out on many patrols, and only one had been a spider hunt, and that under another commander. It was not a popular tour of duty, more like pest control than honest fighting. One could almost pity the creatures. But they were encroaching and increasing and where they went they brought a shadow that provided cover for other dark things, and so had to be pushed back.

There were a few startled glances and raised eyebrows around the other tables as Legolas was recognised taking his place amongst Bregon's warriors, but he pretended not to notice and paid attention to Bregon's swift introductions, storing the names away in his mind. He noted three females amongst the troop and wondered whether this was the result of their still-depleted numbers following the devastation of the Battle of Dagorlad where his grandfather Oropher had died, or if they simply wanted a little excitement and experience before settling down and helping repopulate the kingdom. Idly he considered if this was so for females everywhere, that they were expected to put their childbearing capabilities ahead of whatever personal ambition they might cherish for themselves. Well, one thing was for sure; no wife of his would ever have to worry about such.

His eyes drifted as he ate and he found his gaze resting on Canadion, the young elf partnered by Thiriston of the dire threats, seated almost opposite. Well, at least Bregon didn't look on such proclivities as unnatural…

Canadion was a kinsman, Legolas realised with a jolt, recognising the symbols on his braid clasps, a distant cousin through his mother's sisters. Before he could say anything, Thiriston the direction of his gaze and put a possessive arm round his friend.

'Don't mind me,' Legolas said. 'I think we are related, he and I, through our aunts and their sisters. Besides…' He grinned swiftly and almost regretted his next words. 'He's not my type.'

This drew an uneasy snigger from those near enough to hear and an anonymous voice dared ask the obvious question.

'What is your type, prince?'

Ah. An opportunity to allay suspicion – or to sound too eager to do so? Legolas gave his reply some consideration.

'My type is someone who is unattached.' He allowed his eyes to sweep the table, holding both male and female gazes. Not a few flushed, looking down and then back up through lowered, seductive lashes, masculine eyes and feminine seeking his notice. How they loved the eyes of him! It was an embarrassment, at times… 'And my type is not anyone who will soon have the safety of others in their hands; while I am sure established partners can only add to the fighting power of the troop, new lovers are generally inattentive and easily distracted. Besides,' he added, pausing to take a mouthful of watered wine, 'I do not think a spider hunt is really an appropriate setting for a first tryst. Would you not agree?'

More laughter followed, and he had the sense that he'd passed some sort of test. Still, he was glad when conversation turned to other topics and was taken up by other voices than his, and he could relax a little over his food.

They were seated on benches either side of the table, and some shuffling took place to make room for a latecomer. Legolas found himself with this same latecomer seated next to him. After exchanging greetings and passing the jugs of wine and water up and down, the newcomer addressed him.

'Tell me, prince, for I hear you've met human females. Is it true, do they all have rounded ears?'

It was an odd sort of question, naïve, perhaps. Unless the questioner was very young, or for other reasons had never ventured out of the woodland realm, he would surely know? And there was something, a suggestion of smugness in the tone that hinted more was going on here. Legolas replied anyway.

'Indeed, very round are the ears of human women.' He recalled something Iauron had said; at the time it had seemed crass and unkind, but in present company it seemed somehow more fitting. He rephrased it a little. 'Yes, their ears are round, but some have heels which are more so.'

The laughter that followed was genuine, spontaneous, and over his regret at speaking ill of human women, he reminded himself that it was not as if there were any human women present to be offended. He noticed, under cover of the laughter, that the one who had asked looked deflated, as if his moment was gone. Nor did he have any further chance to make his point, for presently Bregon rapped on the table for attention.

'We will assemble in the courtyard near the front gate at the hour of the night meal,' he announced to groans and grumbles from the company. 'I know, you would prefer your supper at ease! And so would I, but if we leave after, we won't reach our first campsite before full dark. It's a late moon tonight, and I want us ready to be on the trail by moon rise. Do not any of you be late.' He nodded at the troop. 'As we're all finished here, you're dismissed.'

Legolas made his way out of the barracks and headed for his rooms to prepare his kit for the trip. He got there to find two messages had been slid under his door, and he was in the process of unfolding the first when a knock came at his door.

To his surprise, Arveldir answered his summons to enter.

'My prince, will you come? It is urgent…'

'Of course; it must indeed be urgent, for you to send yourself and not a servant to fetch me?'

Arveldir indicated the missives in Legolas' hands. 'We have been seeking you for the last hour or more, my prince.'

'I was with Bregon and his company; I leave on patrol with them this evening. What's the matter, Arveldir?'

'It is… complicated… Please, follow me; there is someone you need to speak to.'


	7. Chapter 7: In the Healers Hall

**Chapter Seven: In the Healers' Hall**

Servants scurried to open the doors to the healer hall for King Thranduil and Prince Iauron, bowing hastily as they held the doors back and their king swept through. Once within, the doors shut behind him, the king stopped and looked around.

He was in the familiar, open space of the entrance hall with its soft silence and polished wooden floors. Light filtered down from high windows so that everything was clearly illuminated without harshness. Doorways punctuated the sides of the hall at regular spaces and led off to other areas. Ahead of him, behind a highly polished desk of so dark a wood that it looked almost black, several of the healers were gathered and one now came out from behind the counter to glide across towards Thranduil and Iauron, her approach so smooth as to make it seem she to Iauron she was on wheels. Her hair was covered with a long sky-blue head-rail which flowed down her back and hid her hair; all the healers here covered their heads, both for hygiene purposes and as a way of signalling seniority; the blue tone indicating she was one of the more experienced healers on duty.

As she neared them, she dropped into a deep curtsey, inclining her head.

'Your majesty, your highness. Healer Nestoril. It is an honour to serve.'

'Rise, Nestoril. I'm not here as your king, but as a father. What news of my son?'

'He is well, sire, and r esting now. If you would follow me, there is somewhere we may talk.'

She led them through a doorway into a wide corridor. There were two doors on each side and another at the end. Between the doorways, benches were placed against the walls and Nestoril gestured for the king and Iauron to sit, herself taking a seat on a second bench nearby.

'And so, Prince Tharmeduil was brought to me in the early part of the afternoon. He was conscious and complaining…' (Screaming, he had been screaming, poor penneth, in agony, for his head, his eyes burning with the light behind them he had cried out, but she wouldn't say so to his father; it would be of no service to him) '…of extreme pain behind his eyes. Those who brought him reported he had collapsed, vomiting – which can happen with certain kinds of headache – and once that was over, he was still incapacitated with great pain. We sent him into a healing sleep in a darkened room, placed cold compresses over his eyes and watched while he slept. He woke within the hour, much improved, and I spoke briefly with him then.'

'And now?'

Nestoril smiled in a reassuringly professional way and rose to her feet.

'One moment,' she said, and went to tap gently on the door at the end of the corridor before entering.

Iauron glanced across at his father. Thranduil's usually calm face was pulled into a frown of worry, and he suddenly looked very tired.

'It's just a headache, Adar,' Iauron said.

'A headache so severe as to render your brother incapable of standing unaided. A headache which…' He broke off. 'Here is the healer.'

From the doorway, Nestoril beckoned, standing aside so they could enter. She did, however, follow them in and stood at the side of the room with her hands neatly folded together, should she be needed.

Tharmeduil was propped up against a bank of pillows. Hi s bare shoulders and arms were visible above the covers and his skin had a pale, unhappy sheen to it. His hair looked to need a wash, his adar noted absently. He felt his mask of dispassion descending once more, not because he needed to be a king at this moment, but because it was the only way to stifle the fear that rose in him at the sight of one of his sons lying still and too pale and with eyes closed. It reminded him too much of their mother.

'My prince, you have visitors.' Nestoril's voice was soft, but still carried clearly across the room.

Tharmeduil opened his eyes with a start, his eyes brightening as he saw his father and his older brother at the bedside.

'Ada… why are you here?'

'Why indeed?' Thranduil permitted himself to smile. 'Ada', indeed! 'I was… merely passing… How do you feel?'

'I feel fine, Adar…' Tharmeduil gave a small shrug. 'Tired, father. I feel very tired and very dirty and very surprised. I do not know what happened other than I had a headache and it grew suddenly very bad… and then Mistress Nestoril was bidding me drink a foul draft which she assured me would be refreshing…'

Nestoril struggled to contain a smile.

'But the pain is gone. I'm sure I don't need to be here now?' he finished with a hopeful look in the healer's direction.

'Once you have bathed and dressed, and taken food without it attempting to leave your body in haste, then we shall see,' Nestoril told him.

'Well, where is the bathing room? And can somebody have them send for some clothes?'

'I do not want you unattended at present, my prince,' Nestoril said. 'If your brother would consent to assist you…?' She waited for Iauron to nod before continuing. 'Through this doorway here you will find a bathing pool and such items as you require. I will have them bring your garments shortly. My king, may I offer your refreshments? I have some fine winter's wine in my study?'

It was made as an invitation, but a slight arch to Nestoril's eyebrow suggested to Thranduil she had a reason for wanting private speech with him. He inclined his head.

'You are most gracious. Please, lead on.'

The room Nestoril took him to was off the same corridor as his son's, and Thranduil found himself touched that the Healer had brought Tharmeduil to a room so close to her own study… or was it that she was so worried about him that she wanted him under her eye? The thought was worrying; he preferred to believe it was out of courtesy.

Nestoril's study was a room of medium size with many bookcases and a table near the window which looked out onto a pleasant garden. There were few flowers, even though it was springtime, but the vista was rich with shades and textures of green, from the fresh and bright of new foliage to the dark, glossy leaves of evergreens countered by the velvet greys of young foxgloves.

The clink of glass from behind him made him turn from the view and he saw Nestoril pouring golden winter's wine into two crystal goblets. She saw him watching, and gestured to an overstuffed sofa for him to sit, taking a seat herself and passing him a glass.

'I've brought your sons through all their infant illnesses,' Nestoril began. 'I've set their bones as they learned how not to fall out of trees and off horses, I've patched them up and stitched them and got them back on their feet after.'

'All the healers in this house are skilled and I would trust my sons to any and all of them,' Thranduil said. 'But when I have had the news of yet another mishap, it has always brought me a measure of comfort to learn you had taken over the care of them.'

Nestoril smiled and sipped her winter's wine.

'It never ceases to surprise me, the process of turning fruit to wine,' she began a few moments later. 'But the transformation from wine into winter's wine is magical. One leaves a barrel of good wine out overnight in the frost and by morning, one can remove chunks of ice from it. The result is a stronger, purer drink.'

Thranduil savoured the golden liquid in his glass, took a swallow. It burned and it soothed and it was fierce in its promise of mellow peace to come.

'And so are we purified and strengthened by our losses. Every time we suffer, every occasion when we lose something of ourselves, that which remains is tempered by it. I know – we all, in this house, know – that you have already been tempered enough, my king…'

'Do you seek to prepare me for further loss, Nestoril? If so, I would prefer it if you were to simply speak your fears.'

She set down her glass, folded her hands calmly in her lap, and turned her soft grey eyes on his.

'Then I need to speak to you about your son, my king.'


	8. Chapter 8: An Unexpected Letter

**Chapter Eight: An Unexpected Letter**

Elrond was not often taken by surprise. But the missive that was brought to him that morning gave him considerable pause for thought.

Truth to tell, it was surprise enough to have communication with the Woodland Realm; while there was no specific animosity between himself and His Most High Majesty, King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, they were not exactly the dearest of friends.

His grey eyes sliced through the plethora of titles and flourishes until he got to the meat of the text.

'From his Most High Majesty, King Thranduil, to Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Imladris called Rivendell, greetings…'

'Having been lately informed that a lady of the Imladris families has come to the notice of our son Iauron, we wish to seek information as to whether, should the lady prove to be of suitable standing, her family would permit her to be considered as his future wife and consort…'

What? He vaguely recollected having been told that when his daughter and her company had been travelling fromLórienback to Imladris, an honour-guard from the Woodland Realm had insisted on conveying them through some disputed territory. It was, he supposed, possible that Crown Prince Elect of the Overactive Libido could have been part of this guard, and that one of Arwen's ladies in waiting had caught his eye…

'And so we would hold it most advantageous if you would enquire, on our behalf, concerning the family of the Lady Gaelbainil…'

'Ha, yes, all very good, O Friend of the Forest… but there is no Lady Gaelbainil in Imladris…'

At which point a thought occurred to him and he laid down the letter, put his hand to his brow, closed his eyes and shook his head…

'Arwen!' he called out. 'Bring the Lady Arwen to me at once!'

While he waited, he pondered. He loved his children, of course he did; but every time he looked at them, he saw their mother in the tip of a head, the wing of an ear, the timbre of a laugh. But Celebrian was gone, over the wide seas to the Undying Lands to complete her healing, and although she was not dead, still, she haunted him.

Time had not yet softened his sense of loss, but he had always born in mind that his children had lost their mother; it was not only he who suffered.

And while his sons had found some outlet for their grief by purging the mountains of as many orcs as they could find, in memory of their mother's torment, Arwen had no such recourse open to her, which might go some way towards explaining her – on occasion – outrageous behaviour.

It was not as if she had lost her mother during her formative years; Arwen had been well into adulthood when the family had been sundered, but she had not responded in precisely an adult fashion.

It had been thought that a visit to her maternal grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lórien, might be of service, that the support and advice of an older kinswoman might supply any lack of Elrond's parenting, but no. Galadriel had sent messages back saying that nothing she could do had been able to impress on Arwen that her behaviour was in any way inappropriate, that Arwen loved her father deeply and had no wish to cause him and sorrow or worry, and that the girl promised repeatedly to try to do better… and then the next night had been spotted in conversation with some of the more worldly of the warriors, or with her skirts around her knees as she paddled in the streams of Lórien…

But really, what could be done? If Arwen wanted to flirt and favour herself through Lórien, there was nothing Galadriel could do or say to stop her

Arwen meant no harm, Elrond reminded himself. She was simply going through a difficult phase, perhaps made worse, extended due to the loss of her mother and she would come through it. They would come through it.

And, if Elrond's guess was correct, he may have found something at last to help…

He shuffled the papers around on his desk as he mentally prepared how to approach the interview. There were several points at which it could become difficult… or simply difficult not to be amused, and he would not wish to hurt Arwen's feelings by appearing to laugh at her.

'The lady Arwen, my lord.'

He glanced up at the servant's voice.

'Thank you, Duinor, show her in and that will be all – ah – wait... Have Erestor come to me later; inform him I will wish to discuss the contents of a letter I've had from the Woodland Realm.'

'Yes, my lord.'

Presently, the rustle of skirts and the faint aroma of perfume made him lift his eyes again.

'Father?'

'Arwen.'

Her hair was dark as midnight and her skin flawless. Her expressive eyes were deep and clear, and he had no doubt that every one of those Galadhrim she'd flirted with would not have been able to believe their luck. Elrond began again.

'Sit down, my dear daughter. I have a letter here from the Woodland Realm…'

'Oh?' Her eyes had brightened and she had moistened her lips unconsciously as she'd lowered herself onto the chair. 'I hope all is well in the Greenwood?'

'Alas, no. From the tenor of this missive it would appear that one of their young swains is suffering from the most acute lovesickness and the only cure is a young lady residing here in Imladris…'

Elrond noted the swift flush on Arwen's cheek, the lowered lashes and the way her mouth parted in a small smile of triumph.

'And you wanted me, Father?'

'Indeed, for the lady in question, the fair Gaelbainil, is unknown to me and I wondered whether she might be one of your retinue I have not yet met?'

'Oh… I… that is…'

'Because Crown Prince Iauron is most eager to discuss the matter with her family…'

'Prince? He did not say that he was a prince!'

'Who did not say, Arwen?'

She gave a little gasp and her flush turned to a blush of shame.

'He called himself Belegornor…'

…which roughly translated as 'Mighty Tree'... Elrond shook his head. Why was he not surprised?

'Oh, so you have met him, then? I take it you were making sure your young friend Gaelbainil was not spending time with someone inappropriate? That is very responsible of you, Arwen, to look after the welfare of those who are your friends…'

Her lip trembled. Elrond was torn between triumph at bringing Arwen to the point of a confession, and guilt at causing her distress. In the finish, neither won; instead, he found himself battling a smile and so he hid it by coming to stand behind her and drop his hands on her shoulders.

'My dear child…'

'Father, oh, I am sorry! I pretended Gaelbainil was my name – you cannot know how hard it is, to be Arwen all the time! Everyone looks at me as if I ought to be weeping, even though the years have lengthened since the loss of my mother, and so even when my heart would let me sing again, I am kept in mourning for one who is not dead and I am ever trying to behave with decorum so as not to displease you, father, for you lost her too, and sometimes it becomes too great and I break free… and I thought it better to pretend not to be Arwen, both for freedom of my spirit and so as not to bring disgrace upon you.'

'My beloved daughter!' Elrond found unexpected emotion filling his throat. 'I want nothing more than for you to be happy, again, for you to sing and laugh, if that's what you feel like doing!'

'And, father, I did not indeed do anything to disgrace our house, although I must confess it was more by fortune than by choice…'

No, this was too much information! While he dearly wanted his daughter's confidence, he did not want a blow-by-blow account…

'… but as I was sitting with Belegornor, an alarm went up that there was a spider in the tent of one of my ladies in waiting, and all the honour guard from the Woodland Realm were called to arms! Belegornor went towards the tent with his sword drawn in one hand and a knife in another, and his commander had the tent surrounded with archers, and when the spider was discovered, it was not even the size of a daisy's golden heart! And while all were laughing, Belegornor explained to me that around his home, the spiders grow larger than horses, and that they are always seeking prey, taking humans and even elves, if they can… and there was something in his eyes then, father, and I knew I did not want to deceive him with a false name and hope, because he lives in constant danger and to toy with him would be unkind.'

She threw up her hands. 'And now I learn that the wretch gave me a false name! Oh, the deceiver!'

Elrond laughed.

'But this is wonderful, Arwen! If you liked the simple warrior, and he liked Gaelbainil, then that is far better than being enamoured of a prince and a great lady, for you know your fondness has a basis in genuine friendship. Did you, really, like him?'

'I really did, Father. Do you think he really may have liked me?'

Elrond returned to his desk and tapped the missive there.

'This message says he does. Well, child. How shall I answer him?'

Arwen's smile, the first real smile he could remember in a very long time, blossomed and she giggled and clasped her hands and laughed. Elrond raised a backswept eyebrow.

'As you wish, of course. But tell me – how are you spelling that?'


	9. Chapter 9: An Awkward Reunion

Legolas followed Arveldir through the corridors.

'Where are we going?' he asked as the advisor led the way lead towards the quieter regions of the palace complex.

'To the Healer's Hall, my prince. When I was first sent to seek you, it was on one matter only…' Arveldir would be taking a risk, paraphrasing his orders, but taking all things into consideration, it seemed better to deal with as much business as he could, while he had the prince's attention. 'Now, however, another situation has arisen and so, once you have dealt with the first matter, I will attend you.'

Inside the tranquillity of the healer hall, Arveldir approached the desk at the far end and spoke quietly with the healers there. One nodded and gestured, and Arveldir returned to Legolas' side.

'This way, my prince.'

'Is someone ill, Arveldir?'

'We are going to the convalescent rooms.' The advisor opened a door for Legolas to precede him. 'We turn left when we reach the end and there is an office. You will see papers on the desk; it is a second draft, as the initial information we had was mistaken and we have had to update accordingly. If you would be so good as to make yourself familiar with the contents of the documents…'

'You're not going to tell me what this is about, are you?'

'It will all become quite clear, my prince. I will return presently.'

Legolas seated himself at the desk. A glance at the documents was enough to startle him, and he look up hastily. 'Arveldir? Wait…'

But the advisor had already whisked himself out of sight.

He turned his attention back to the papers, making sure he knew what was intended.

At one point he found himself reading the same lines several times, shaking his head.

Arveldir had provided a handwritten summary of the documents, and he read through that to make sure he hadn't mistaken the meaning of the formal paperwork…

'…has been persuaded that, while she may be mistaken, if she were given to choose, it would be yourself on whom ultimate responsibility…'

_What?_

'…note that in the contract, the word 'father' or 'parent' never occurs, simply references to 'sponsorship'… the lady is currently unaware of the identity of her 'elven friends' and believes that her audience with the King was simply a demonstration of our good intentions…'

He found he was shaking his head. This was wrong, this was utterly wrong…

'My prince.'

He looked up to find Arveldir standing in the doorway.

'Of all my father's notions, this has to be one of the worst, Arveldir!' Legolas complained. 'It is disrespectful to the girl and patently impossible! It would be false in me to presume…'

'She likes you. Understand, we are not forcing this on her. And since it was discovered that she doesn't have the… the support we assumed she would have, we have improved the terms and extended an invitation for her confinement to take place here, where our healers can properly attend her.'

'Well, I've made a few alterations of my own to all three copies of the document. If she agrees to this, and if anything happens to me, I've made the child my beneficiary…'

'My prince! That's very generous of you, but…'

'Don't worry; I've no intention of dying. But I do have to leave on patrol this evening, so could we get on?'

'The woman is waiting in the chamber through that door, my prince. Her name is…'

'I know her name, Arveldir! Flora. Her name is Flora. And she has two little brothers who want to grow up to be farmers, not fishermen and her Da has old-fashioned ways.' And her favourite aunt had died in childbed, and Flora missed her.

He got to his feet and collected the papers together.

'And she likes hot milk with honey added, and a little sweet spice. She used to bring me a cup, while I was in the stables with the horses. See that someone brings us some, if you would.'

'Of course, my prince. At once.'

Without waiting for Arveldir to leave, Legolas went to the connecting door and knocked on it before going in.

The girl had been sitting on a low padded seat near the window, looking out. She turned at the sound of the door, and so Legolas was able to see how her anxious expression changed to one of smiling recognition. Legolas found his own face smiling in response.

'Flora! It's good to see you.' He sat near her and looked into her face. 'Are you well?'

'Quite well, considering.' Her shrug was slightly embarrassed. 'You?'

'Fine. I go out on patrol tonight, though. I'll be away for a week.'

A knock at the door and a servant brought in a tray with two glasses of hot honey and sweet spiced milk and a plate of sugar cakes.

Flora laughed as she took a glass of milk and sipped. 'You remembered!'

'I did indeed… Flora, is this really what you want?' he blurted out, not at all how he'd intended to begin the conversation. 'Because there is nothing here that you have to do, I hope you know that?'

'When I found out,' she began. 'I would have given the world for it to happen. Now, I can't wait to hold my baby. My… what's the word? Peredhel?'

He smiled. 'Did they tell you what will happen?'

'Yes. Do you mind? What of Belegornor? I know he can't… but don't let him mind too much, will you? He'll still be an uncle. And we'll know.'

'There's a contract.' He glanced at her with a reassuring smile. 'Don't worry. It's just that we're promising to take care of you. And, if you like, if you would, you can have your baby here. Where there are healers to help.'

She nodded. 'I'd like that. It's not for a while, though. They say I've another four months.'

'When did you get here, Flora?'

'Yesterday. They were very careful not to tire me with the journey. Of course, I wasn't at all tired… they've been very kind. I'm going home tomorrow. Will… no, you won't be here. Your patrol, of course. What will you do, in your duties?'

'There's a problem with giant arachnids in parts of the forest – a long way from here, don't worry. We'll keep them at bay.'

'Is it dangerous?'

He thought about it; she sounded as if she really wanted to know, as if she was concerned for him.

'A little. But there are good people with me and we know what we're doing. So, you're happy with our intentions towards you?'

'Yes. Your King was very generous. Did… Did Belegornor have to see him? He's very… regal. Kind, though, I think.'

'We all saw him. Really, he only wants to be sure nobody misuses you. Well, then.' He placed the contract down and signed with a flourish. 'I'll leave this with you, and if you want to sign, that's fine by me. And here…' He paused to write on a spare scrap of parchment. 'If you need anything, you can write to me at the name and place on there. Anything you need; I've taken responsibility for sponsoring the child, now, and that means, too, that if I were to die, your son or daughter will get all that is mine.'

'I'd really rather you didn't die, you know.'

Legolas smiled. 'Indeed, so do I!'

They sipped at their drinks in silence. He really should go; he had this other thing Arveldir had threatened him with, whatever it might be, and his gear to prepare for the evening.

But it was hard to simply get up and leave her here alone.

'Do you need a husband?' he found himself asking.

Flora gave a startled laugh, shaking her head. 'I need a friend, that's all.'

'Believe me, I'm likely to be a much better friend than I am a husband.'

She leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was the briefest, softest of touches, over in an instant, but it was the most pleasant kiss he'd ever had from a female and it left him feeling blessed and humbled.

'Besides, my Da wouldn't like it.'

'Your…?'

'My father.'

He smiled. 'We say, 'Adar'. And my father wouldn't like it either, I'm ashamed to say.'

'Da… Adar… Maybe we're not so different, after all. Apart from the ears, not where it matters.'

'Where it matters, I am sure we are not.'

'Yes.' She reached out to lay her hand briefly over his heart. 'Where it doesn't show.'


	10. Chapter 10: Inheritance

'I need to talk to you about your son. We are rather concerned at some of the symptoms he has displayed…'

Healer Nestoril became aware of her hands. Instead of lying calmly in her lap, they were writhing and twining, fingers working together almost painfully as she prepared to explain to her king just what ailed his second son. She saw recognition and dread in his eyes, the eyes of a father preparing for bad news.

'It is as it was with his mother, isn't it?' he asked, and as she drew breath to reply, she saw his face change, saw the father withdraw somewhere behind his eyes and she was faced with the calm, impenetrable veneer of the king seated across from her.

'My king, it is too early to be certain. This was one headache, accompanied by visual disturbances. Your son has not mentioned having had any such headaches previously, and I had hoped – the healers all contended – that were the affliction to be passed on the next generation, then it would manifest during adolescence…'

She stopped. King Thranduil was listening politely, but she knew he wasn't hearing what she was telling him. He had stopped listening at 'too early to be certain' and until she spoke so plainly and so harshly that the meaning of her words could not be misinterpreted, he would still not listen, would not accept the possibility that Tharmeduil had inherited his late mother's condition.

'My lord, you need to know this. We were not aware, in time, that the queen was suffering and so we had a very narrow window in which to help her. And we could not. We failed her and…'

A gesture from Thranduil cut her off.

'The healer hall did all it could. You, all of you, did everything possible. We did not blame you at the time nor do we do so now.'

'If I may speak frankly, my king…?'

He sighed and got to his feet to wander to the window, taking his winter's wine with him.

'If you must.'

'We know from the queen's illness that the headaches in her case were either accompanied by visions or followed swiftly by them. We know from each incident, that the subsequent headaches were worse, the visions more intense and the effects of each more extreme, with recovery taking longer and being less complete each time.' Nestoril paused and got to her feet, forcing her hands to stillness. 'There were, to our certain knowledge, seven episodes before the… the final one. We were not prepared, we did not understand how extreme the eighth attack would be and so…'

She broke off to come and stand at the king's side.

'The point I would make first is that many of the queen's visions were startlingly accurate. It was in one of her early visions that she saw the use of spider-silk as a powerful healing aid. And other visions she had which, so I hear, gave forewarning enough so that acting upon them saved many lives during those times of orc and arachnid incursions when the region was most under threat…'

'Yes. The warnings we received enabled our warriors to target their response… and I was glad of something to take my mind off the helplessness I felt in the face of her illness…' It was almost a confession, and it was only because he knew Nestoril's discretion of old that he admitted as much. 'She served the kingdom well, in her own way, always seeking the next vision in order to pass the information on…'

'Nobody knew, at that time, that doing so would hasten her end,' Nestoril said. 'And therefore, while we need to seek to understand Tharmeduil's visual disturbances, we do not want to encourage him to seek more, lest it speeds the progress of his illness…'

'I thought you said it was too early to be certain?'

'I did, my king, but we must be aware of the risks. We need to be aware that it may come to the point where we have to act quickly to save your son's life.'

And there it was.

Thranduil flinched and turned appalled eyes on the healer at his side.

'You are so sure, then?'

She shook her head. 'I am not certain, no. But, in my opinion, it is wise to prepare. Our previous experience with this condition makes me believe that there is nothing this house will be able to do to prevent death coming to anyone so afflicted. Perhaps there are other healers elsewhere with more skill. Perhaps, for instance, Lord Elrond of Imladris can advise you further. But it may be that the only thing we can do for your son, my king, is to send him across the sea to the Undying Lands where he will undoubtedly find all the healing he requires.'

'You think it will come to that?'

She held his gaze, her eyes solemn. 'Ai, I will pray it does not. But I would send word and prepare for the journey, just in case.'

'But the route to the Grey Havens is long. The journey is hard, and there may be no ship ready…'

Nestoril laid a hand fleetingly on the king's arm.

'There is always a ship ready. We would, if we had to, send the prince into a sleep so deep he would not wake until he had been safely transported to the Grey Havens. A healer from this hall would travel with your son to make sure all is well. It does not matter how hard the journey, if we have to, we will make it. Along the road to the eastern boundary of the forest, south by river and then across the mountains and a break of journey at Imladris and then on…'

'Or by boat through the forest to the Great River, then south on its tide to the passes and over to the Hoarwell… a longer journey, but more comfortable, perhaps, for him…' Thranduil shook his head. 'I do not want it to come to that.'

'Nor do any of us, my king.'


	11. Chapter 11: Departure

Less than half the patrol had assembled in the courtyard by the time Legolas escaped the palace, his kit bag slung over his shoulder, his bow and quiver secured in place across his back with his twin knives. He was dressed in greens and browns, the better to blend into the woodland, his cloak rolled into a bundle and attached to the rest of his kit. He took a seat on a stone bench at the edge of the courtyard. Others of the patrol were seated nearby, or standing in the open space conversing lightly with each other.

Legolas didn't seek to join in; his mind was still churning from the events of the afternoon and a part of him wished he wasn't going on patrol tonight, given the news he was still trying to assimilate. He'd still been reeling from the thought that he was now responsible for Flora's unborn peredhel when Arveldir had returned to collect him, leading the way through to a different section of the healer hall and he had been astonished to discover that Tharmeduil was currently there, recuperating from some sort of headache. Still, when he'd been shown to the room, he'd found Tharmeduil in excellent spirits and making inroads into a light meal with Iauron bearing him company.

'What are you doing here?' Tharmeduil had asked. 'You're on patrol later!'

'I know. We leave before the night meal, too…'

'…so you'll need some food in your belly before you go!' Iauron pushed at the dishes on the table. 'Help yourself, little brother! We've had plenty!'

'Speak for yourself!' Tharmeduil protested. 'I've been told not to overfill myself!'

'What's up with you, anyway? You seem fine to me!'

'Headache and flashing lights. One of those sickness-headaches.'

'Such as Mother used to get?' Legolas asked anxiously.

'They didn't say. And I'm sure they would have done, so don't worry about me. What have you been getting up to?'

Legolas has shaken his head. 'Business. Ordering my affairs lest I don't return. It has been a strange sort of a day.'

Iauron snorted. 'Strange, indeed! It's all right for you two, but I had another of his majesty's 'disappointment' lectures today!'

'Oh, what have you done now?' Tharmeduil asked with a groan.

'It's more like what he did a few months ago,' Legolas said around a mouthful of fresh bread and cheese.

'What? Go on?' Tharmeduil looked from Iauron to Legolas eagerly.

'You're going to be an uncle,' Legolas said lightly.

'Really?'

'Much to the despair of our father and to my own embarrassment!' Iauron took up the tale. 'There's my lady in Imladris – even though it was before I met her – I'm not certain she'd look kindly on such exploits!'

'Who could blame her?' Legolas said, his temper flaring. 'To hear you speak of it! This 'exploit' of yours has changed the life of this young female beyond your imaginings…'

'Yes – our father will see to it that she is provided for and lacks nothing for the rest of her life, Legolas, probably in far more comfort than she would ever have known and if we had not intervened that night, what would have happened?'

'That is beside the point. It is different for human females, they are expected to behave in certain ways and if they do not, even if it is not their fault, they are thought badly of. Added to that, they are prey to all manner of ailments our kind is not prone to, and…'

'If you're going to argue, could you take it out of my room?' Tharmeduil complained. 'You're giving me another headache!'

The two fell silent, looking with concern at their brother. He frowned and rubbed his temples.

'She will be fine, Legolas, Flora will be fine and her son will be quite the loveliest peredhel this side of the Misty Mountains, and, Iauron, your mysterious elven lady wouldn't care even if she did know the whole story, but don't think you're free and clear, there, she's not what you think, and…' He broke off. 'It's gone, the headache's gone again.'

'You need to tell the healers,' Legolas said.

'You need to go and pack!' Tharmeduil told him. 'Make sure you've got some lavender oil with you.'

Iauron sniggered at the stunned expression on Legolas' face; Tharmeduil punched him on the arm. 'Mind your manners, Iauron! It's just the best thing for spider-silk burns – you know when you cut a strand and the stretch in it makes it snap back? Well, the lavender oil takes the sting out of it.'

A knock at the door, then, and Healer Nestoril has made her quiet way in. 'Would you leave us now, my princes?' she asked in her measured voice, smiling to take any suggestion of authority out of her words. 'I have further business with your brother.'

'Of course. Don't let him drive you to distraction with his demands, will you?' Legolas said, getting to his feet and snaffling a couple of pieces of bread and cheese from the table. 'See you in a week or so, Tharmeduil.'

'Have a good tour. And watch out for spiders!' Tharmeduil had said, lifting an apple and throwing it at his younger brother; Legolas caught it easily.

'For while you're waiting for Thiriston Cut-Face – he's going to be late!' Tharmeduil had said.

And, sure enough, as the remainder of the company assembled around the courtyard, the second-in-command had not yet arrived. Legolas bit through the crisp skin of the apple, and wondered how Tharmeduil had known, and if he would be equally correct about Flora and the need for lavender oil against whiplash from spider-silk.

Yes; a part of him did not want to leave tonight, not after the emotional weight of his meeting with Flora, the worry about Tharmeduil. But there was another part of him, a part that was desperate to be off, to find release in movement, to replace worry with activity.

He heard Bregon call out to ask had anyone seen his second-in-command, heard a reply from one that they'd seen Thiriston approaching the armoury as they themselves were leaving it. Legolas glanced up, saw Canadion standing nearby.

'He said nothing to me of needing anything, Commander,' Canadion called out, and there was a note of uncertainty to his voice that Legolas noted. 'I parted with him but two hours since, and I thought all was ready.'

'Well, he knows the way to our camping place; he can follow, or not, as he wishes,' Bregon said. 'I swore I'd not stay for any latecomers and we don't need a second just to march through the gloaming. Legolas; join me. Rimon, take point above; Tinuon, bring up the rear and watch the trail for Thiriston.'

Legolas moved to stand at Bregon's side as the rest of the company fell into formation behind. The order was given to open the gates, and the company passed through and out into the soft evening.

Their way took them over a wide path through the broad clearing in front of the gates and onto a narrower track, still with room enough for four to march abreast. The shadows thickened and curdled, and the sounds of the forest deepened, but the company walked easily, conversing lightly amongst themselves; the region immediately surrounding the palace and off the most-frequented tracks was safe and secure.

'We'll need to go with more caution once we leave our camp,' Bregon said over the melody of a marching song being taken up by the backmarkers and quickly spreading through the ranks. 'But for an hour or two, it's good to walk in the greenwood without fear.'

'I hope the days will come when we can walk further without fear. But my father says the darkness is encroaching.'

'It has a rhythm, this great forest. It has its own life and patterns, and if you watch long enough, if you immerse yourself enough, you can read it. The darkness encroaches, yes – but we push at it and push at it, until it recedes again. Do not think we fight alone, my prince! As soon as the forest feels us fighting its enemies, it fights, too; they are slow, these trees, to respond, but respond they do. They spread signals through the air that only they can read, and they change themselves, so their leaves become bitter to evil things, and their falling boughs are timed to best damage our enemies. It may not seem much, and yet it brings me comfort, to know we do not fight alone.'

Legolas nodded; he'd heard stories of the hidden strength of the greenwood.

'I love the air of the forest at this time of day,' he said.

'I know what you mean, Bregon said. 'It's always worth fighting for, but at moments like this, it's especially beautiful.'

The sun was setting and the skies gentle, greys paling down or soft blues dusking, the change of pace of the life of the forest was tangible as day creatures made way to night, owls took white wing above and the larger mammals came out to forage and hunt.

'Legolas…' Bregon began again. 'I have a particular task in mind for you. I doubt Thiriston will join us now, and it would have fallen to his special friend…'

'As long as it does not involve getting on intimate terms with my cousin Canadion, I think I can oblige.'

Bregon smiled. 'Oh, nothing like that. I'll speak of it in more detail later. When we camp.'


	12. Chapter 12: Words on the Wing

**Chapter 12: Words on the Wing**

Healer Nestoril retired to her study at the end of a worrying day. She loved her duties and if she had a weakness, it was that she cared and worried too much about those in the healer hall.

Today, for example. A human female had been brought the day before and had required lodgings out of sight of the general inhabitants of the palace – King Thranduil had a reputation for isolationism to maintain and did not like it known that he sometimes assisted outside his realm when occasion demanded it. So the young woman had been kept in virtual isolation in the convalescing wing until sent for… of course, Nestoril had the whole story, first from Arveduil, Thranduil's chief advisor, and then from the attendant….

And that had barely been sorted out when she had been called to an emergency, one of the royal princes, no less. Not just one of the royal princes; Tharmeduil.

Nestoril cast her mind back to that afternoon. Having had a difficult conversation with King Thranduil, she had returned to Tharmeduil's room to find both his brothers in attendance, the three laughing and joking and eating as if there was nothing wrong at all.

So alike, she had thought them, and yet all such unique individuals! Iauron with his powerful, swordsman's frame and eldest-son arrogance, Legolas' more refined face and lithe body, and Tharmeduil with his less-than-perfect hair and stronger features. One did not, of course, have favourites, especially not amongst the royal princes, but if one did, it would be difficult not to give the first place in one's esteem to Tharmeduil.

Particularly if Tharmeduil's health was suddenly cause for concern.

She sighed, and reached for her writing equipment, composing a letter to her friend Gaelbes, a junior healer working under the acknowledged master of healing amongst Elven-kind, drafting and redrafting to get all the important facts down in as concise a form as possible.

It took the best part of an hour before she was satisfied, and then copied out the text once more onto the thinnest, lightest piece of parchment on her desk. Size, and weight, was at a premium, unless she wanted her message to take three weeks instead of three days.

She folded the missive and collected her cloak, heading out of the healer hall and making for the mews attached to the building. Dusk had swept down like a soft, warm blanket, and she barely needed the cloak around her shoulders, but it was a comfort to her.

The mews was quiet at this time of evening, most of the birds already locked safely away for the night, but the chief falconer was still in his office, writing up his day notes.

'Healer Nestoril! A good evening to you. How may I serve?'

'I've an urgent message to the healers in Imladris.'

'Imladris…' The falconer scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'There's a lot of terrain between here and Imladris… Sparrowhawk's best for the forest… Harrier's got the power…'

'It must go as swiftly as possible as it concerns one in my care, and I do not know how much time I have. And I expect there will need to be a reply.'

'Peregrine, then. Fastest wings we keep, and good in the mountains. Might take a few breaks through the forest, but, we've got some excellent birds here. Imladris… we have one that knows his way there and back again; I'll sit up with him tonight, tell him while he roosts where he's to go for an hour or so. He'll be sent off at first light and should be there in two days or three, if the weather holds for him.'

'Thank you; I'm very grateful.'

'They'll have to rest him a day or so before he can make the trip back,' the falconer warned her. 'But you should hear back in a week.'

Nestoril nodded and handed over the message. The delay was irksome, but that was how it was; there were hundreds of miles between here and Imladris and if there was a quicker way to get a message across, she did not know of it.

Returning to her study to tidy up before retiring for the night, she was surprised to find a visitor outside.

'My king! I'm sorry if you've been kept waiting; had I known…'

'I have but this minute arrived. Your people were most apologetic that they did not know your whereabouts.'

Oh, dear! That meant anxious assistants to soothe tomorrow!

Personally, Nestoril never allowed herself to be daunted by Thranduil; she respected him deeply, but the sick were in her care and she treated her king pretty well as an equal; he ruled the realm, but she ruled the healer hall. Her under-healers, assistants and support staff, however, were not immune to their king's majesty.

'Would you care to step inside? And how may I serve you?'

'Another glass of winter's wine would be rather pleasant.'

'Of course.'

And once the door was closed and the winter's wine poured, and they were both seated on the soft chairs near the fireside, Thranduil sighed and stretched his long legs out to the warmth, and Nestoril smiled, seeing just a worried father there.

'We've known each other a long time, Nestoril,' he said, sipping at his drink.

'Indeed. I've seen all your children birthed and grown. You have sons to be proud of, my king.'

'I sometimes wonder, when Iauron gets into yet another scrape… do you have children, Nestoril? A spouse, a family?'

'The sick are my children,' she said with a shake of the head. 'I have a sister with children enough to keep my mother happy. I am a better healer than I would be a wife and mother, and so I am content.'

'What is to be done about Tharmeduil?' the king asked abruptly.

'I have requested him to write down, or draw, any of his visual disturbances or premonitory notions so that we may track them. I have asked him in as subtle a way as I might if he has had other incidences, and he finally told me yes – these blinding pains behind his eyes have been an occasional visitor to him over recent weeks, but for no longer than a few brief moments and not so severe as today's attack. And he mentioned a slight recurrence when his brothers were sitting with him, and an intuition he had… but that the pain went once he had spoken of it.'

'What does this mean in terms of his future well-being?'

She shook her head. 'I do not know. I have sent to a friend for advice – she will put the facts to her lore master who is renowned amongst healers everywhere and he will aid us, if he can. But it will take some days for the message to get there, and for any reply to come back.'

'I cannot lose him,' Thranduil said bluntly. 'Do your best, Nestoril. I see his mother in them all, but in him, the most. It is sad to see her illness in him, also.'

'You accept the possibility, then, finally?'

'I do. I did not want to, but denying it would be futile.' He drained his glass and set it down empty on the table, getting to his feet. 'Goodnight, Nestoril. Let me know when you have had a reply to your message.'


	13. Night Camp

Chapter 13: Night Camp

Legolas reckoned they'd been moving through the forest on increasingly narrow paths for a couple of hours when Bregon led them off the track and through a narrow gap between two sentinel beech trees beyond which a wide glade opened out.

'This is it!' he said. 'Three to a flet, and first watch goes to you, Tinuon. Legolas, with me.'

As flets went, it was disappointing, more of a platform woven through the branches of the tree than anything else. There were no side panels, and the entire thing was roofed only by the trees.

'So… when I said 'flet', I really meant 'level place where we can rest above the ground', my prince…'

'Legolas,' Legolas corrected, putting his back against the trunk of the tree. 'How long are we here for, Commander?'

He saw the glint of a smile from the other. 'Bregon,' his commander said. 'Two hours or so. I want to give that reprobate Thiriston time to join us before I give away his sweetheart's job to you…'

'And what is it, this task?'

Bregon settled himself cross-legged on the platform.

'How much do you know about the spiders, Legolas?'

'How to kill them, mostly. Through the eyes, down through the centre of the head; there's also a nerve cluster where the abdomen and thorax meet… you can rip down into the abdomen, the heart is in there or along the spiracles… they're easy to drown, as they have no lungs, such as we know… their poison induces unconsciousness and paralysis for a short time, they make different sorts of silk for different purposes and they taste foul… do not ask,' he finished. 'The last patrol I was on, we lost our supplies and found ourselves too far from home with no sustenance.'

Bregon was laughing softly as Legolas became aware of a vibration of the platform. He twisted to face the entry point to the flet where the platform had a space between it and the trunk. Canadion's chestnut hair, made darker by the night, appeared through and he looked from Bregon to Legolas.

'Three to a flet, Commander,' he said. 'Or do I interrupt?'

'Not at all – but you will have heard what I'm about to say already. Legolas, you're right about the differing silks. The sensor strands where the spiders await their prey are not adhesive – the spiders themselves may be ensnared, else. Web silk and binding silk, that's the worst. If it sticks to your skin, you're likely to remove your skin with it, trying to break free. It sounds a minor inconvenience, but lose enough skin and you'll not survive… cocooning silk – the extra layers a spider adds to wrap its prey, that's imbued with something of the same poison in the bite, to keep the prey docile.'

Canadion had seated himself while Bregon spoke, choosing to put his back next to the tree trunk and so positioning himself quite close to Legolas. The prince tried to subtly slide away, but the opening in the flet was too close for him to move more than a hand's breadth away.

'But there's another sort, and there's a standing order from our healer hall that if we get the chance, to bring as much as we can of it.' Bregon went on, his mouth lifting in amusement as he saw Legolas' uneasy shuffling. 'When the females breed, they wrap their eggs in yet another variety, caul silk, intended to help protect and nourish the developing spiderlings within the egg sacs… and it has been discovered that this silk has healing properties. It can prevent infections, it regenerates skin torn away by the adhesive spider silk, and it is of great use in the treatment of burn injuries.'

'This is the season when the eggs are ripening on the edges of the webs,' Canadion said. 'If we can harvest it, the healers can store it. I am usually the one to collect the egg's silks, my Thiriston watching my back… Bregon, I am worried! I do not know why he is not here, or what could have caused his delay…'

'Well, no matter! Having seen Legolas in the practice trees, I don't doubt his ability to acquire a caul or two for us.'

'But, Bregon…!'

'If you're here just to voice your concerns, Canadion, consider it done! We need now to eat and rest, so stay if you will or go if you prefer. There's time yet for Thiriston to join us, and if he does, well, you can harvest as usual. But I know you, I know how you rely on him keeping the spiders busy while you slide in under them, and I don't want your attention wandering, not when you could easily lose your looks to a wildly flying strand.' Bregon nodded towards Legolas. 'Your far cousin here is fresh to the work, he's not had chance to get sloppy like the rest of us. You can watch his back, if you like.'

Canadion subsided, and Legolas got to his knees, moving away from the tree trunk and hoping it looked as if he were simply investigating his pack for food; under other circumstances he would have been glad to get to know his distant cousin better, but knowing said distant cousin owned a jealous lover was information enough at the moment. Nor could he be overjoyed to hear the task Bregon had for him had previously been Canadion's.

Legolas sat away from the trunk, now, eating the remainder of the bread and cheese he'd filched from his brother's table and finishing with an apple and a drink from his water canteen. He'd a store of waybread wrapped securely in his pack, but Bregon had promised them all a good meal after the night's march.

Finished with food, he unslung his cloak to pad under his head and curled up where he lay, conserving his energies until it was time to leave. As he rested, he sent his awareness out to the tree around him, following the slow surge of its life-force, the gentle murmur of its rising sap…

It took time to read the chemical signals emitted by the trees, time and practice. Legolas allowed his perceptions to drift… and a strange tang to the air, sensed at the back of his nose rather than smelled, brought him back to full awareness. He sat up abruptly.

'What is it?' Bregon asked, alerted by the sudden movement.

'Lhingril!' Legolas said, just as Tinuon, on watch on the far side of the clearing gave a warning shout.

'Spiders!'


	14. Chapter 14: Blood in the Dark

Chapter 14

Tharmeduil's face felt odd. He felt odd. He was lying mostly on his stomach, his right hand hanging down loosely off the edge of the bed, his fingers dangling. He should move. He should try.

He didn't want to.

Perhaps he should open his eyes first? Somehow, he didn't want to. Nor was he aware of any sense of light outside, so it must be dark. And so it must be night. So was there any real point?

His face felt stiff, stuck to the pillow case. Why would that be?

He tried to move. His hand swung, but the rest of his body didn't want to respond.

Could he roll onto his back?

…Just. But his face was still stiff and stuck and as his body came back to life, he was aware of a sudden pain as he tried to lift his head… a pain in his face, and as he tried to rearrange himself, his dangling hand flailed, knocked against the leg of the table near the bed, shaking it so that the contents jarred and rattled, sending out a ringing sound that pierced through his head…

He decided that trying to open his eyes was definitely not a good idea just now.

Presently, a soft tapping at the door, and he heard it opening.

'My prince?'

He didn't recognise the voice. Nestoril was the only healer he knew well; it didn't matter, really, that you didn't know their names, you just said: 'Healer, thank you,' and that was fine.

'Prince Tharmeduil?' The voice was nearer, and it didn't sound as soothing or as calm as most of the healers here generally did. 'Are you awake, my prince?'

Tharmeduil tried to answer, but he only managed a faint groan.

He thought there was a soft gasp, but then a warm hand rested for a moment on his brow, distracting him.

'Lie still, my prince. I will be but a moment.'

He thought he heard her voice shortly after, muted, from outside the room, but he really didn't care. He was uncomfortable and stuck, somehow, and really wished for something to happen to free him from this discomfort.

Time passed.

The soft, hushed swish of robes, and the voice he was waiting to hear, the one he knew.

'Good evening, my prince. May I help you?'

He would have nodded, had he been able to, but as it was, Nestoril helped anyway. A cool, wet cloth patted at his face, soothing and refreshing. He sighed and felt himself relax under her soft ministrations. Particular attention was paid to the area around his eyelids, the touch of the wet lint feather-soft, silking and smoothing away his discomfort.

'You may open your eyes now, my prince.'

Tharmeduil. He wished she'd use his name, once in a while, but he didn't have the energy to say so.

'Or we can wait a little longer. I'll just place this pad over your eyes for the present.'

He heard the sound of water trickling into a bowl, as if a cloth were being rung out and a smaller, moist compress was gently laid over his eyes. His face was wiped again, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. It felt as if Nestoril was cleaning him up, rather than just trying to soothe him.

'Nestoril?' he managed to say. He heard a short exhalation of breath.

'Come, my prince, I'd like you to sit up, if you will.'

An arm went around him, and he tried to push himself up in the bed, feeling weak and helpless and not a little scared. Pillows were rearranged at his back and the pad over his eyes threatened to fall away. He managed to get his hand to it in time to prevent its fall.

'What's up with me?' he asked.

'Well, at present, I would say you've had a nosebleed in your sleep. Not a common thing, but not so rare as to cause too much concern.' Her voice was amused, but he didn't quite believe her lightness of tone. 'You were slightly stuck to your bedding. How do you feel about opening your eyes now?'

He grimaced as she lifted the pad off his eyes, but did as she suggested.

'Everything is blurred and dark,' he complained.

'It's the hour before moonrise; of course it is dark!' She turned to speak to someone else in the room. 'Bring a covered lamp and set it down near the door; we will keep the room dim.'

The assistant healer murmured acquiescence and left the room. Nestoril moved to open one of the heavy curtains at the window and the darkness lifted a little. She took the liberty of perching on the edge of Tharmeduil's bed and tipped his chin with professional fingers, looking into his eyes.

'Yes. Your vision will clear presently. I suppose I had better tell you that as well as your nose, your eyes also bled a little.'

'What? But…'

'Hush, Tharmeduil. Be calm, my prince. You remember I spoke to you of recording any visual disturbances you might have? That extends also to your dreams…'

'This is like my mother, isn't it?' he said, hearing how his own voice grew higher in pitch, louder, more alarmed. 'Have I my mother's affliction, Nestoril?'

'If you have, then we will take care of you. We will make sure you do not… we will not let you die, Tharmeduil. You father has told me he simply will not permit it.'

He managed to smile at that and she passed the cloth back to him.

'Wipe your eyes again. It is a mixture of lachrymal fluids now and the last wash of the blood. Your sight will be fine shortly.'

The assistant healer returned with the lamp and set it down. 'Is there anything else, Healer Nestoril?'

'We will have some tea – chamomile, if you can organise it. Then you may return to your duties.'

The lamp, covered by a parchment shroud, gave off a gentle glow that didn't so much illuminate as add warmth and comfort to the room. Once sure the light wasn't causing any discomfort to Tharmeduil's eyes, Nestoril brought the lamp nearer, until, unshrouded, it sat on a table near the bed.

'We will sit here,' she told Tharmeduil. 'You have work to do.'

'Work?'

'You need to record your dreams. I'll help you.'

She assisted him to don a dressing robe over his nightshirt and kept her hand lightly under his arm until he was seated at the table. A knock at the door, and the assistant was back with the tea. Nestoril took the tray from her with thanks and carried it back to the table where Tharmeduil was staring at a blank sheet of parchment.

'What are you thinking, Tharmeduil?' Nestoril asked softly as she set the tea down.

'I don't know where to start. I don't want to write it, I want to outline it…' He reached for a charcoal stick and touched it to the parchment. 'And talk of it.'

Nestoril reached for her own writing materials. 'Then I will write, while you speak.'


	15. Chapter 15: Of Spiders and Sharp Edges

Chapter 15: Of Spiders and Sharp Edges

'Spiders!'

The forest had fallen silent. Bregon shook his head, freeing his weapons as beside him, Canadion looked around in fear.

'My pack, weapons. On the other flet…'

'Idiot!' Bregon hissed, sliding a dagger across to him.

'There's sound from the north-east,' Legolas said. His long white knives were ready in his hands, his eyes unfocussed as he continued to try to read the air. 'A large group, approaching swiftly.'

'This isn't usual,' Bregon muttered. 'They expand into new territory, but they do not migrate. Hold your ground; they are too close to the trail; we cannot let them pass. Watch each other's backs, I need to be sure the company's ready.'

Canadion nodded and drew closer to Legolas, taking up a defensive stance at his side. His breath sounded, short, shallow pulls of air that made Legolas worried about his companion's fitness to fight. Bregon had already slipped away through the canopy to the next fletted tree.

'Are you all right, cousin?' Legolas asked.

'I… I am not. Thiriston will be on the trail, and if he is seen, alone and in the open…'

'You can do nothing about that at the moment, Canadion; you must think instead of what you can do. Come, you've fought these beasts before…'

'I have not fought them; I have dodged them and collected the egg sacs. I must confess – I do not like spiders…'

'Do any of us?'

'No – I mean I do not like them…' There came a rustling from the trees outside the glade, and Canadion gave a low moan. 'I mean that I… Please, cousin, only my Thiriston knows this and if report got out…'

'All right. Just… Keep out of my way, do you understand?' Legolas unslung his bow and knocked an arrow ready as, with a rush of limbs, the first spiders came into view overhead. 'Ai, Valar! How many are there?'

They were huge, dark shapes against the sky, bodies ranging in size from shorter than a fox to longer than a horse's, with stilt legs moving far too quickly. Eyes were luminous green clusters in double rows, five or seven to a head, and the creatures were focussed, intent on travelling and had no attention for whatever might be in the trees beneath them.

Legolas fired into the abdomen of one passing over and it fell with a whimper onto the flet, limbs spasming its death throes. Canadion shrieked like a human girl, and cowered down, leaving Legolas to defend the flet against the oncoming tide of arachnids. A second, a third fell to his bow, rebounding off the edge of the flet and crashing down to die in the clearing below. From the other flets came the sounds of more attacks; bows singing, elves crying encouragement and warnings.

Legolas fought alone. Bregon hadn't made it back to the flet, and Canadion was worse than useless, cowering and gibbering at his feet. Idly, Legolas wondered if this was the real reason Thiriston had such a reputation for possessiveness, to guard his lover's reputation for courage.

The glade beneath was filling with dead or dying arachnids and finally Legolas was out of arrows. He'd used and reused all he could, but his last one was buried in the brain of a huge twitching beast flailing on its back beneath the flet and he had no chance to seek for more.

He reached for his knives and swallowed back his fear as the next wave of spiders came out of the dark. These were bigger, their limbs thicker and stronger, their eyes larger. The thought of closing with one in combat filled him with dread, but, arrows gone, what else could he do? He took a stance, preparing to leap up and rip at the underside of a huge abdomen, but found the top of his boot grabbed by Canadion.

'Wait!'

'Release me!' Legolas hissed.

'No – hear me – these are the guards. When the queens have to move, they surround them for protection… Wait…'

Legolas shook his head, but held still. Canadion let go and managed to get to his knees.

'Yes! Look, there's the queen. She's got egg sacs. They'll be stuck to her body with the silk we need for the healers…'

'What do we do, Canadion?'

'I don't know! I've never taken from a carrying queen before…' He made it onto his feet and straightened up, clutching the blade Bregon had given him. 'Well, then… if you can distract her, I'll make for the eggs…'

Distract her? How?

The approaching queen was more than half as big again as the spiders surrounding her, swaying through the trees and encumbered with an odd accretion of globes; there were scores of them, each bigger than an elf's head.

'Hurry!'

Legolas spared a glare for Canadion, twirled the knives in his hands and leapt, extending his left arm as he did to bury a knife into one of the queen's eyes. She screeched rage, swinging her head and Legolas followed the stroke with his right hand, the knife in that hand plunging into the next eye in line, pulling free the first blade and effectively walking the knives through both rows of eyes. The guard spiders clustered, unable to come close as the queen flailed and lashed out in her agony. Legolas hung on to the handles of his knives, using the spider's momentum to pull the blades free and somersault over to top of the head, landing on the hard carapace of the thorax.

'I do not take kindly to being told what to do!' Legolas called out to Canadion. 'And what is it you are going to do, cousin?'

Legolas ducked as one of the guard spiders closed in, causing him to twist away, one knife overhead spearing the underbelly of the guard, his other blade daggering down into the queen at the vulnerable narrow joint between thorax and abdomen.

From somewhere he heard Canadion yell as he launched himself at the egg sacs clustered about the queen's abdomen. The spider convulsed, bucking and causing the blade Legolas had plunged into the guard spider to slip and slide and release a torrent of sickly blue blood. Legolas lost his footing but kept hold of his knives so that the tug of them from spider flesh slowed his fall. Still, fall he did, rolling to try to keep clear from beneath the bodies as he saw Canadion's anxious face as the other elf sliced and sawed at a thick strand of silk holding the cluster of egg sacs in place against the queen.

More guard spiders circled, the instinct to flee the blades and the urge to protect the queen vying in them. One leaped, a bundle of folded limbs and gleaming green orbs, only to find a stinging knife blinding one of its eyes and a shout going up, and there were more blades in the air over Legolas' head, whirring and wheeling high so that he could get to his feet.

The queen, eyes blinded and weeping sticky fluid, floundered and tried to get her limbs under her, but one of Legolas' knives had done serious damage to her nervous system and her body leaked life fluids even as a huge curved axe flashed down out of nowhere to sever the thorax from the abdomen and leave it pulsing and bleeding on the platform while the rest of the queen's body was ignominiously kicked free of the flet.

The bravest of the remaining guard spiders bared its fangs and sprang, but the axe whirled and flashed and a brash voice yelled defiance. Legolas kept his head low, beneath the spinning axe, and got inside the spider's guard to dig a knife up into the creature's underside. It folded its limbs and threw itself off the flet, throwing out a line of silk to stay its fall, but a rain of arrows from the glade intercepted it, and the creature was dead as it fell.

And there were no more spiders.

Legolas braced his hands on his knees, taking stock. He was pretty well unharmed; out of breath, almost gagging on the stench of arachnid body fluids, but still in one piece. He stood up and looked to see if the wielder of the axe was to hand, and if it would be appropriate to offer thanks.

Across the flet, Thiriston Cut-Face had dropped his axe, taken Canadion into his arms, and was kissing him as thoroughly and completely as if there were nobody else present.

Legolas smiled, his grateful words silent in his mouth. Thiriston looked just a little bit busy.


	16. Chapter 16: Sparring

Chapter 16: sparring

Iauron stopped outside the entrance to the sparring room. There were two guards on duty, not a usual occurrence, but he'd had a message that his royal father required his attendance there, and although that, too, was not a usual occurrence, it went some way to explain the presence of the guard.

The telling-of-the-hours lamp burning at the corner of the passages suggested there were still three hours to go until the morning meal. He growled at the reminder of how early it was, ridiculously early, so early it was almost just really late.

What was Adar doing up at this time?

More to the point, what had Adar got in mind for him now?

Still, you didn't ask questions when one of the royal guard passes on a summons from the king, whatever the hour. You just got up and got dressed and made your way to wherever you were wanted.

Although, truth to tell, Iauron had already been clothed when the summons came, which had been a bit of a time saver…

He straightened his shoulders and nodded to the guard. 'My father the king is expecting me.'

The doors swung open and he tried to walk in with confidence.

'You wanted me, father?' he asked, his eyes tracking around the chamber in search of his sire.

Behind him, the door closed with a clunk and he turned to see Thranduil with his back to it.

'Yes, indeed. I understand you have not been out to the training grounds for a few days and so I decided it was time I took a more personal interest in your capabilities.'

Iaruon swallowed. His father was wearing only his boots and his leggings, the long silver-gold hair caught back out of the way, his arms and torso bare and pale in the glow of the lamps. Rather than appearing diminished without his robes of office, Thranduil looked even more imposing, the power of his lean, muscled body revealed, his natural height accentuated by the long shadows falling away from him as he stood, looking his son over as if unhappy with what he saw there.

Iauron saw a tightness about the king's eyes which was suggestive of displeasure, the sense echoed by the fierce swish and sweep of his father's unsheathed sword slicing the air.

'And yet you must be bored. Why else would you volunteer for escort duty? What other possible reason could there be for you, the heir to the throne of the Woodland Realm, to ride out, not for battle arachnids or to defend our borders, but to act as a lowly guardsman, conveying a covered wagon towards Esgaroth?'

So that's what this was about?

'Father, I…'

Thranduil reached out for a sword from the rack and threw it at his son, knowing Iauron would make the catch. Either that or he would lose fingers, for all the practice weapons here were edged and honed.

He strode forward, lifting his own blade and then slowly lowering it so the tip rested on the cold stone floor, his eyes following it, turning his body to present as narrow a target as possible towards his son.

'Whenever you're ready, Iauron…?'

Iauron took a deep breath. Having easily snatched the sword out of the air, he played it for a moment or two, familiarising himself with the balance and weight and temper of it. Not over-heavy, its smooth finish gleaming with a tracery of swirls and linear decorations, it was a comparatively modern blade. One did not use the swords of the First Age for weapons practice.

Unless, of course, you were King Thranduil. His sword was long and sleek and straight with barely a hint of hilts, blade and handle inscribed with the writing of the older days. One of a twin pair, Iauron could only be glad his father sought to test him with just the one blade in use; the standard curved-bladed lhang Thranduil had thrown across to him was a perfectly adequate piece, the sort of weapon Iauron had trained and fought with for most of his life.

The king's sword was ancient, but his father had told him, once, of the forging of the pair, of holding the newly-tempered twin blades up to the moonlight to admire the polished purity of their mirror-finish surfaces.

Just how old was his adar?

Iauron touched the point of the lhang to the stone and turned his shoulder towards his father.

'Adar.'

'Iauron.'

The blades lifted and surged towards each other, flashing, clashing streaks of brightness whirring through the air. Hands, arms, bodies flowed after them in the dance of the singing swords as Thranduil and Iauron closed together and broke apart, circling and whirling. Thranduil's eyes flashed silver-blue fire, Iauron's dark blue gaze fastened on the centre of his father's chest, the better to predict his next moves.

The ancient blade made a wheel of silver, obscuring his view, and the lhang rose to counter it. The two blades locked, and Thranduil's sword slid with a ring down towards Iauron's hand guards. Their eyes, too, locked.

'You thought to circumvent my request that you leave this unfortunate woman be.' Thranduil's voice was soft as thistledown. 'You disregarded my wishes, her well-being – for how could it profit her, to be reminded of you when you have abandoned her?'

'I only wanted to be sure she was well…' Iauron stepped back, the pressure of his father's grip through the ancient sword causing him to falter. 'You denied me even the chance to speak to her!'

'You had your chance,' Thranduil said, implacable. 'I told you that if you wished to marry with her, I would not refuse you.'

'Yes, Adar, but…'

'Moreover, you would have abandoned your duties here. With one brother ill, and the other on patrol, it never occurred to you that you were needed at home?'

'Father, I…' His grip broke and he twisted out of the line of his father's eye fire, stumbling to his knees and giving the king the only chance he needed to bring his sword against Iauron's neck. He swallowed. 'I yield! And I am sorry! But Tharmeduil just has the headache… it's not serious…'

Thranduil muttered a profanity and sheathed the sword with a flourish, walking away from his son. A light sheen across his bare shoulders was the only sign he'd been working hard, and he reached for a cloth to drape around his neck and wipe the perspiration away. Shaking his head, he crossed the distance between himself and Iauron and held his hand out, pulling his son to his feet.

'The healers inform me, on the contrary, that it probably is serious. Had I known how much so, I would have delayed Legolas' patrol, for there is cause for concern and I would rather have all my sons about me so that we may face this together.'

He clapped Iauron on the shoulder and walked away, freeing his hair from its confinement and draping his outer robe around his shoulders

'You did well this morning, Iauron. You would have done better had you not allowed yourself to be distracted by our conversation. And you will find, if you spend less time in the brothels of Esgaroth and more on your wrist action, you will find it improves your swing considerably. I have said before, I almost expect to be disappointed in my sons.'

He glanced back over his shoulder and gave a weary smile.

'But that has not happened yet this day.'


	17. Chapter 17: Aftermath

Chapter Seventeen: Aftermath

The late moon had been long risen before any real order returned to the encampment. The remains of the arachnids had to be disposed of, injuries tended to, decisions made. Legolas found his lavender oil salve needed close to home; once Thiriston had finished greeting Canadion, he had stepped back to look his beloved over.

'You've a skin rip, melleth,' he said, a shrug of the shoulder behind him where Legolas stood suggesting he didn't care what the prince thought of the exchange.

'I know; I was cutting free the egg cords when some great oaf cut the entire beast in half and made the strands snap,' Canadion replied in a teasing tone. 'I'd no change of getting out of the way in time.'

'Ai, I was more worried about your head than your hands! Let me see.'

Legolas turned away to seek his pack. Tucked away near the trunk of the tree, it had survived the influx of spiders unscathed and he rummaged around until he found the lavender salve Tharmeduil had suggested he bring.

'Here, Thiriston,' he said, lobbing the jar over to him. 'The healers say this is good for silk burns.'

Thiriston raised an eyebrow. 'Thank you, my prince. You planned ahead. Come, see what silk can do.'

A wide stripe of skin had been ripped clean off the back of Canadion's hand and the flesh underneath was prickled with blood. Thiriston turned away to the caul around the eggs and cut a section free, wadding it into a pad before he unstopped the jar and smeared some of the contents onto it. He then placed the salved spider silk over his lover's injury, binding it in place with more of the silk.

'It harms or it heals, depending what the creatures need it for,' Thiriston said. 'And we take care of our own first, and then take what's over back for the Healers.'

'Of course. What do we do now?'

'Strip the caul silk and destroy the eggs. Unless you want to go and find Bregon and tell him I'm here, my prince.'

'Agreed, Captain.' Legolas wiped and sheathed his knives, slung his bow and gathered his pack. 'I'll see what else he needs, if that's all right with you?'

'Better have this back, then.' Thiriston rolled the lavender salve back to him. 'Not everyone thinks about getting injured ahead of time.'

'I did not bring it out of concern for myself,' Legolas said through gritted teeth, and went in search of Bregon before his anger at being as good as called a coward spilled over.

Nor did he want to witness the destruction of the eggs; stripped of the caul of silk, the round globes had disturbing signs of movement inside as the embryonic spiderlings moved and twisted about. It seemed unfair to destroy them, even though they would otherwise grow to be a threat to the woodland realm, even though they were poison and death on eight legs.

He made his way down to the floor of the glade, picking his way through the wreckage of fallen arthropods to where he could see Bregon and another of the company – Tinuon, he thought it was – attending to the casualties.

'Commander,' he began. 'Your second has arrived; he's helping Canadion harvest the caul from a queen they killed.'

'Oh, you got one, too?' Bregon rose to his feet and crossed the gap between them so that he could speak more privately. 'That brings the total to three, although why that many brood queens were moving all at the same time…'

'A stampede? Yet what would cause such a thing; there is no taint of fire in the air?'

'Not a stampede, they were moving with haste and urgency, but with intent. A migration, perhaps. We are fortunate there was so much purpose to their march. As it is, we have several serious injuries and I am particularly concerned for the safety of the sentries on our guard posts.' He nodded off in the direction from which the spiders had emerged before giving Legolas a measuring look. 'Forgive me, my prince, but at this moment I do not know what to do with you.'

'I do not quite follow...?'

'This was meant to be a comparatively easy tour of duty; we expected spiders, but not in so many numbers or with so many queens. I doubt your royal father would be pleased at the dangers you have faced this night… I wonder if I should ask you to escort the wounded back to the safety of the barracks. You would suffer no loss of face…'

'If I walked away from my commander when there was real work to be done, I would be at far greater danger from my royal father than from anything Mirkwood could offer me!' Legolas said. 'What do you need, Bregon?'

'I really do need an escort for the wounded… but, more, I need someone to go round the sentry posts… Some must dispose of the remains and destroy the live eggs… We won't be able to carry out our planned tour now. So. I'll break up a caul for you; you may find injuries amongst the sentries. I'll send you with Tinuon. He knows his way around the outposts. He's in charge – I take it you'll have no problem with that?'

'Not at all, Commander.'

Tinuon was a wiry elf with hair just too dark to be blond and who wasn't quite as tall as Legolas. He appeared to have come away from the attack unscathed and grinned at his prince.

'The tale is that Thiriston arrived with a brand new weapon and slew half a dozen spiders on your flet, my prince, but I was on the one next along and I saw for myself how many fell to your bow!'

'He got the queen, after I was out of arrows,' Legolas admitted. 'And I need to source more, if we're walking again tonight.'

'And did Canadion whimper like a child and run to hide?'

'I could not say. I was busy with my work.'

Tinuon laughed. 'Gather your arrows, my prince. We've a three hour march before we reach the first sentries and I'd like to get there as soon as we might.'


	18. Chapter 18: Vision

**Chapter Eighteen: Visions**

Nestoril became aware that her face was resting on her arms and she was leaning forward from the waist in a somewhat awkward position. Lifting her head, she saw another face near hers, the eyes open and with the distant, far away expression she recognised as sleep. It was more like meditation, really, a waking dream where one walked and found rest.

Daylight filtered through the windows and illuminated the room and she could see that Tharmeduil's eyes had cleared of the blood. He looked simply peaceful and she found a smile growing on her face as she pushed herself up to sit against the chair, stretching stiff arms and shoulders.

Her notebook lay open on the table, several pages covered with her neat, flowing script, broken into paragraphs to match Tharmeduil's change of subject. Under her patient's head, Tharmeduil's drawing pages rested, the edges curling up to frame his face, his charcoal and pigment sticks abandoned.

Carefully, quietly, she rose to her feet and crossed to the window. The falcon would be on its way now, her message bound between its wings, hurtling itself over the long miles between Mirkwood and Rivendell. It was a vain hope, really, that any cure could be suggested, any remedy found, but it was all the hope she had to offer and just now she knew Thranduil needed hope.

There was a shadow over the king, just as there was a shadow over the land. He had never, really, recovered from seeing his father hewn down millennia since, from seeing the folly of engaging an enemy armed only with fire and rage and weapons and lacking armour. He brooded and spent too much time alone with the acid of his memories, and sometimes he could go for months without tempering the bitterness with any trace of relief.

And yet somehow, as spring will push against the harshest frost eventually, so Thranduil would come out of his moods, and smile again, and make sharp witticisms at Iaruon's expense, or make droll remarks about his youngest son's preference for the company of his weapons over the company of females, and one could be forgiven for believing the shadow gone, not merely retreated to where Thranduil could hide it behind his kingly mask or his fatherly teasing.

Tharmeduil's illness was another dimming of the light, a deepening of the shadow around the palace caves, and Nestoril resolved to do all in her power to keep her healer hall bright.

She heard a deep exhalation, and turned to see Tharmeduil stirring, trying to sit himself up.

'Good morning, my prince. May I help you?'

She carefully gathered the parchments together and set them on the edge of the table, collecting together the pigment and charcoal sticks tidily into their holder.

'You called me Tharmeduil last night,' he said.

'Was I too informal? Forgive me, highness…'

'No, I didn't mean – that is, I liked the informality. It felt more as it used to, when we brothers were children. Before we knew we were princes.'

'Well, that's easily solved.' She gave him an easy smile. 'While there are no other persons present, we may be Nestoril and Tharmeduil, and keep our titles for when we need them.'

Tharmeduil glanced at the stack of parchment.

'You know, I'm not even sure what I was drawing last night…'

'Shall we look?'

At first glance the pages were confused, a jumble of line and shape, but gradually, Nestoril thought she could pick out decided themes. Working from her own notes, she began to trace the tale of Tharmeduil's night visions.

'Spiders fleeing to the south west, crossing the path… but here, something happens…'

'The spiders are attacked. They are only passing through, escaping…' Tharmeduil looked up. 'How is it that I can explain this now, when I could not, in the night, remember?'

'It is possible that your resting mind has put together the pieces of the puzzle,' Nestoril suggested. 'But see, they come from here… the mountains you've drawn…'

'They're not really mountains,' he said. 'They are… weaknesses. Not raised up, but somehow within the earth… underground? There is something trapped, and the spiders are fleeing it.'

Nestoril started a fresh sheet of notes for Tharmeduil's reinterpretations.

'There was something about your brother?'

'Legolas will be fine,' Tharmeduil said absently. 'He's not coming back with them, but that's only because he's not injured. There are no spiders left there, now.'

Nestoril hadn't meant Legolas; it was Iauron's name in her notes, Iauron Tharmeduil had been talking of, something about a biter bit and an imposter imposed upon… she let that be, more interested in the new insight.

'The king will be pleased,' she said, 'to learn Legolas is unharmed.'

'In time, he will. But he's just going to see the return of the company with injured amongst them and worry. And when Legolas isn't there, he'll get into a rage with Legolas for not being there and worrying him anyway. And then, he will but worry about where he really is…'

Nestoril by now was laughing. 'But this is not insight, this is simply knowing how your royal father processes information, Tharmeduil! Come, do you know where Legolas is, if not with the company?'

'I see a flet and then another. It is followed by a third… always there is someone with him, but their faces change. He is fine, he is simply doing his duty; it minds me of my tour, when we visited around the sentry posts. Will you tell Adar for me?'

'Of course.' She set her notes aside. 'I'll bespeak some breakfast for you, and one of my assistants will sit out here while you use the bathing facilities, lest you need help.'

Rising to her feet, she inclined her head towards him, her smile still friendly but it felt as if she'd taken a half step backwards. 'I'll attend you later, my prince.'

Leaving the room, she went to the main hallway and spoke to the healers behind the desk.

'I have had word we may be receiving several wounded warriors shortly. Please be prepared for possible injuries caused by spiders.'

'Certainly, Healer. But...'

'And someone to take breakfast to Prince Tharmeduil and wait while he bathes in private. The prince may well wish to know whether he will be returning to his private chambers today; please assure him I will speak to him on the matter presently. Should he have any recurrence of headache or visual disturbances, seek me immediately. I will be speaking with Lord Arveldir.'

Ai, she was tired! Not for sleep, but for a little calm, a space away from her cares which seemed to have increased considerably over the last few days.

Making her way to what passed for the administrative centre of the palace complex she found Lord Arveldir's study door and tapped at it, entering once she heard his voice.

'Just set it down, thank you,' he said, not bothering to look up from where he was engaged in paperwork.

'I have nothing to set down, other than my person,' Nestoril said, an amused gleam in her eye as Arveldir looked up in confusion.

'Healer Nestoril! Your pardon! I was expecting a delivery of breakfast, not a visitor! Please, do take a seat and tell my how may I be of assistance?'

'There is a matter I wish to lay before our king but I do not know how to broach it without worrying him unduly…'

'Oh?'

Without naming the source of her information, Nestoril gave him the bare bones of the matter; that some of Legolas' patrol was returning injured but that he himself, although quite safe, was still engaged in his duties and would be late.

'My problem is how to inform the king of this without awakening his ire…' She said this with a smile that Arveldir knew of old; she, like he, wanted only to smooth Thranduil's path wherever they could.

'If you are happy to permit me, I will bring up the matter presently.' A knock at the door interrupted, Arveldir's breakfast arriving. 'Once I have broken my fast.'

'That is a very good idea!' Nestoril said. 'I will leave the matter in your capable hands, and seek my own table.'

'Please – there is plenty here. Join me, and tell me more of the matter.'

Nestoril inclined her head in acceptance. 'Yes, that is a better idea than mine! Thank you.'


	19. Chapter 19: A Falcon Flies

WIDS 19: A Falcon Flies…

The sky was still tainted with the blues of night when the falconer took his peregrine from its perch and set it to the gauntlet. He attached the message carefully to the bird, ensuring it wouldn't foul the wings, before climbing a set of steps cut into the side of a grassy mound which rose at one end of the mews. Here, a breeze could always be felt, bringing fresh air from beyond the forest and giving his birds a taste of the open skies.

The peregrine was hooded, and he gently removed the hood, its little bells jingling, and found a scrap or two of meat for the bird from a pouch at his waist. He whispered soft words as it ate, reminding the bird of its destination and the need for haste.

Done, he released the jesses and cast the peregrine up into the sky. It circled, climbing, and then settled into a flight pattern that took it over his head, over the palace, and out over the richness of the canopy towards the west and Imladris.

The falconer nodded satisfaction. Yes, a good bird. With fair weather and the wind behind it, the peregrine should arrive at Imladris on the morning of the next day; while his two to three day estimate to Healer Nestoril had been conservative, it had not been a deliberate falsification; rather, he had factored in the bird's need to roost and feed and rest and the possibility of rain. The bird did not fly well in the rain.

But the bird flew well in the day that blossomed from the dawn; the skies grew clear and bright and it lifted on thermals above the forest, the canopy stretching out beneath it in an undulating wave of differing greens.

Early afternoon, and Healer Nestoril had the first actual evidence that Tharmeduil's visions could become reality when almost half of Legolas' patrol staggered in. Only two of the warriors had been so injured as to have been carried in on litters, but there were some bad skin lacerations amongst the rest. She organised her healers to work, gratefully accepted two bundles of caul silk and held herself in readiness for the summons she was almost certain would come.

Indeed, she had only just finished attending to the worst of the injured when she heard a voice, although it was not the one she had expected.

'Healer Nestoril?'

A hush had fell on the chamber where the injured warriors were receiving treatment as all stopped their work at the presence of King Thranduil and tried to make appropriate bows. The king waved at the room in general.

'I demand protocol in my throne room; when I come to the healer halls, it is not required,' he said. 'Feel free to continue working.'

Nestoril glanced up, saw the king with Arveldir standing behind him. Thranduil's always pale skin had less colour than usual even for him, and his regal mask failed to hide his anxiety from her knowing eyes. She took a moment to smile reassurance to the warrior in her care and nodded to her assistant. 'Once the injury is cleaned, dress it as usual. Do not stint on the caul silk; these brave hearts have gathered more for us.'

She moved away from the bed and went to greet the king with a gracious curtsey now she was free of work.

'May I offer you the hospitality of my study, sire?'

'For the moment. Lead on, Nestoril.'

Once in her study and the door closed, Nestoril turned to face the king; Arveldir had joined them, too, so she offered seats and took her own place behind the desk.

'One warrior has lost a band of skin the width of my hand from thigh to ankle; he was give treatment in the field and so, while in much discomfort, he is in no danger. One has rips on both arms; another was stunned and bruised falling from a flet when a spider advanced too rapidly on her position; her wrist was broken also. Nothing is too serious and all will recover well, although the most badly injured will need to stay here for a week, perhaps.'

'Arveldir, I will need to know their names so that I can speak to them…'

'If I might, my king, if there is anything you need to ask them…'

'I do not want to ask them anything, Arveldir, except to enquire if they are out of pain and to offer my thanks. Healer, your message earlier intrigued me, but I am concerned about the location of my son…'

'But naturally you are, my king. A message was brought back with the wounded, so I understand, but as to where it might be…'

'Possibly on its way to your office, Arveldir!'

'I'll go and find out at once, sire. If you will excuse me.'

Arveldir bowed and left the room as quickly as was fitting.

'And now we are alone, Nestoril, how did you know this would happen?'

'Prince Tharmeduil, my king. He also said that Prince Legolas had work to do but was uninjured and that you would be… displeased that the prince had not used the opportunity to come home.'

'Displeased? And why would I not be displeased? This was meant to be a simple patrol with small chance of danger, a few individual spiders to be cleared out before they banded together and an opportunity for my son to experience some of the tedium of patrol! Instead, there appears to have been a massed offensive…'

'One of the injured was speaking of it. She said that the spiders seemed intent on passing through; they were not interested in our warriors until they were attacked and even then still seemed only to wish to pass. I do not know the ways of the creatures, only the uses of their caul silk.'

'Of course. I will give your healers time to work with the injured before I plague them. May I, in the interim, see my son?'

'Certainly, my king.'

The peregrine falcon broke its flight pattern near the edge of Mirkwood to hunt. It rose high into the sky, thousands of feet above the landscape, intent on a small flock of starlings beneath. Folding its slate-grey wings, the peregrine fell into a stoop, its velocity adding power to the strike as it stretched out its feet to snatch a bird from the sky. It ate on the wing, as migrating birds will, and was over the open plain between the forest and the Misty Mountains as the daylight began to fade around a sinking sun. The bird had been heading steadily west all day, its intended route to make for the line of the mountains and then follow them south and then over to Imladris, but the bird, as with many creatures more in tune with their natural environments, sensed a disturbance and instead turned south-west. This increased the open, bare lands between it and its evening roost, but some warnings were too strong to ignore.

Had it done so, had it continued, it may well have seen, with its extraordinarily acute vision, how every creature in the land seemed to be moving away from one region of plain between the mountains and the Great River, but, intent on reaching the foothills of the mountains and a safe roost before darkness fell, the peregrine kept to its new course instead.

Jesses: Thin straps used in falconry to help control the bird, usually attached to rings around the bird's ankles.


	20. Chapter 20: A Long Afternoon

WIDS Chapter 20: A Long Afternoon

King Thranduil's afternoon dragged on slow feet. He had visited Tharmeduil, reassured to see his son had lost the sickly pallor of the previous day and to find him dressed and seated at the small table in the room. He had listened to his son's request – a plea, almost – to be allowed back to his personal chambers, and had listened to Nestoril lay out the advantages and the disadvantages of both.

'We know that people fare better in their own surroundings, with their own things about them,' she had said. 'But what if your son is taken ill again? In the night?'

'I won't be taken ill again,' Tharmeduil said. 'Not before the night Legolas gets back, and that's more than a week away, he'll be delayed.'

He found himself under the intense scrutiny of two pairs of eyes as both Nestoril and his father stared at him.

'What?' he asked.

'My prince, please, do not attempt to encourage yourself to more insights lest you make yourself ill again!' Nestoril said hastily.

'I'm not! It's on here, look…' Tharmeduil spread a sheet of parchment out. 'We only looked at the first one, Nestoril, but there were other pages and I've been filling in the blanks. While I've been waiting for you to decide what to do with me.'

'Is it wise to encourage this?' Thranduil asked.

'I need to, Adar,' Tharmeduil said. 'I have the flashes of images and I have to capture them. It only hurts if I ignore them. And when I go back over them, I understand more of what's happening. It's really very soothing.'

Nestoril was looking across at the parchment on the table. Reaching for her own notes, she tried to see if there was any correlation between Tharmeduil's claims, his drawings, and her words.

'I see your meaning; it is worrying to see you have recorded your own attack of illness, but it does appear to be linked with Prince Legolas' return.' She turned to Thranduil. 'My king, I do not think your son is in any danger for the very near future. As you wish, of course, but I see no harm in Prince Tharmeduil returning to his own rooms. I could visit twice daily to make sure all is well.'

'Let me consider it,' Thranduil said. 'My son, I will let my wishes be known presently. Healer Nestoril, I would now like to visit those who returned injured this morning. Would you accompany me?'

'As my king wishes,' Nestoril said, with an outrageous wink at Tharmeduil behind the king's back. 'Lord Arveldir has a note for you here…'

He had looked over the information on the paper and committed it to memory before visiting his warriors. Celeguel, the only injured female, had a concussion and a broken wrist from her fall, but seemed cheerful, almost tearfully grateful when her king thanked her for her sacrifice of pain. Maedon was swathed from waist to ankle on one side – Eru only knew what the man had been up to when a long strand of attack-silk had ripped the skin away from his bare flesh. And Thranduil was not about to ask. Maedon was barely conscious, sedated for the pain, but Thranduil murmured his gratitude anyway, just in case the warrior could hear.

The walking wounded were together in one pleasant room, sitting and talking and nursing their bound limbs and tired bones. But at the sight of their king, they all stood and bowed and he walked amongst them, taking time with every one and hiding the pain each wound woke in his heart. He had remembered each name, and had been startled when one, Triwathon, addressed him after he had finished and was about to give a small speech and make his escape.

'O my king!' Triwathon said, and Thranduil hid his astonishment, seeing nervousness and great daring in the eyes that held his. 'You will like to know – the prince fought well. I saw him kill three times, and he maimed one of the queens so the caul could be got.'

Thranduil made himself smile in the appropriate manner.

'You have all fought well,' he said. 'But it pleases me to hear my son is worthy of a place amongst such fine warriors, Triwathon. Be well swiftly.'

He nodded, holding the eyes of each rather than making his planned speech. Speeches were pompous, in any case.

'They are all well enough to be released from my care,' Nestoril said, once they were outside and in the main entrance of the healer hall again. 'They do not like to be so confined.'

The healers on duty at the desk were all busy and so Nestoril took the liberty of laying her hand on the king's arm for a fraction of a second.

'And neither does your son, my king.'

Thranduil hid a sigh.

'Very well. If you will attend him, he may go to his rooms. But I will not have him out of them, can you impress that upon him?'

'Of course, my king.' Nestoril tried, but failed, to hide her broad smile, and the king knew had made the right decision. 'I will pass on the good news immediately.'

She contained her delight and saw King Thranduil out with all due decorum before giving a little skip of gladness which would rather have shocked any of the other healers, had they seen it, and went to pass on the glad tidings to Prince Tharmeduil.

He was seated on the bed expectantly, smiling as she knocked and entered.

'Your father has agreed that you may return to your own chambers under appropriate supervision,' Nestoril told him. 'But you seem to have known this?'

Tharmeduil jumped up and laughed. 'It was on the third page, in the middle of a spiral design that showed my father shaking hands with lots of warriors. What has the old villain been up to now?'

'Personally thanking those from your brother's patrol who returned injured today,' she told him. 'So, let's get your untidy bones out of my nice, neat healer hall, shall we?'


	21. Chapter 21:Arrivals

WIDS Chapter 21 Arrivals

Legolas and Tinuon were a shadow and a shade as they flowed through the forest. Moving from branch to limb through the upper canopy of the forest, they had been making their way to the first sentry flet on the circuit.

Every now and again, Legolas would pause and lay his hand on the silver bark of a branch, in much the same way as one might lay a hand on a friend's arm in comfort. Tinuon noticed, but didn't say anything. Instead, he took in the concentration in Legolas' face, the darkening of his expression for a few moments after.

It had been a disturbing journey. Although they were high up enough in the canopy for green light to filter down, the shadows were thick and clung, and they were making their way almost directly through the wake of the spiders' exodus. Branches were snapped and bowed, leaves were shredded and flattened, and strands of glue-silk was dangling, here and there, from the trees, or stuck against the trunks and the branches between which they had to pass.

Most alarming was the silence. Usually the forest was alive with sound; birdsong and animal calls and the small, rustling sounds of the unseen creatures that power the engine of organic renewal. But the only bird calls heard were those he and Tinuon used to keep in touch when out of sight, or on approaching a sentry flet.

They had already visited two, and had reports from the alarmed, albeit largely uninjured sentries.

'A great wave of the creatures, rushing down upon us,' the sentries in the first flet in line had said. 'We saw there were too many, and that they were holding to the canopy, so we descended to await their passage. I hope this was well done of us?'

Tinuon had clapped the archer on the shoulder. 'Mellon-nin, they rushed over us, also, and we were hard-pressed. What would it have availed, for you to get killed and so be unable to report to us?'

They had rested an hour and then moved on to the next outpost, arriving late in the afternoon to find three worried sentries, one of whom nursed a broken arm. The tale there was similar; suddenly overwhelmed by the mass migration of the spiders, the sentries had only had time to take cover.

'We're concerned about Golvon and the rest. The trees in that direction are much distressed.'

It was already late and the forest was sinking onto gloom. Tinuon set his pack down and leaned against it with a sigh.

'It'll be full dark anyway by the time we get there; and we will get there, but I must just rest first…'

'We took on the same march of spiders that passed over you here,' Legolas said, feeling a little explanation needed for the sentries were eyeing Tinuon with less respect than was appropriate. 'It was a hard battle, for some of us. And we have walked six hours to get here. But if one of you will lead the way, and my captain permits, I will go.'

'We'll both go,' Tinuon said. 'After we've eaten, we'll both go, Legolas, and one of our friends here with us. Pephennas, you'll do! And we'll see who is freshest when we get there!'

Almost midnight and they were finally within hail of the flet. Tinuon's first owl call went unanswered, and their alarm was growing, when a second call did receive a faint response.

They hastened across to the tree supporting the flet . Tinuon led the way.

'Legolas, hurry!'

Legolas arrived on the flet already unfolding the caul. He tried not to gasp in shock as he saw Tinuon raising the head of an elf. He looked unconscious and in the darkness his skin was far too white. The others on the flet looked in little better condition, and he hastened to help Tinuon.

'Caul won't help here; he's had a sting. All we can do is keep him warm and make sure he drinks plenty; it'll wear off.

'Govon! What happened?' Pephennas asked, kneeling at the side of one of the elves who had been trying to sit up and greet them.

'Queen's guard…' Govon managed. 'No halting them; just stung us…' He reached out a hand. 'Pass the word round…'

Tinuon left Legolas with the unconscious elf and came over.

'Word's been passed, Govon,' he said. 'Everyone's fine. Drink something and then get some rest. We'll stay here with you.' He glanced around the flet. 'Well, some of us will. Pephennas, you head back to your post. I'll send a message with you and one of the others can take word back to Bregon that these three need an escort back to the palace.' He nodded to Legolas. 'We'll be here for the night. The hunting poison wears off quite quickly, but these spiders were moving and protecting their queens. They use something more powerful for that. It takes a while to recover from. Get yourself comfortable.'

First light, Tinuon was up and leaning over the edge of the flet. 'I need to go on. There's another four outposts north of us and they could be in a worse state. I can't leave these three alone and unable to defend themselves, but…'

'It's fine, Captain,' Legolas said. 'I'll stay until someone comes.'

'Assuming Pephennas passes on the word, you should have company by mid-afternoon. You've supplies for five days in the store under the flet and Govon should be able to tell you where the water supplies are if you run out.'

Elrond scanned the lengthy formal missive in front of him. Elegantly scripted, with all appropriate flourishes and curlicues, it was a nightmare of a document and would probably give those reading it headaches for at least a week. Not that he wished such a fate on Arveldir, the advisor to the King of the Woodland Realm, who in all dealings with Elrond and his own advisor had seemed a fair and conscientious person, but he wouldn't have minded in the slightest if the king himself had a groan and a grimace at the letter.

Arwen's obvious delight in being sought by Iauron of Mirkwood had swayed him. He was certain the prince would be a very poor son-in-law, that King Thranduil would hate it, and even doubted the wisdom of encouraging such a farce himself. But if Arwen really wanted this hopelessly unsuitable suitor, well, Elrond had better look as if he was supporting her so that, when Iauron let her down, as he undoubtedly would, she would be able to turn to her father for comfort, rather than blaming him.

And so he had asked Erestor to draft out the formal document suggesting a meeting of the key persons involved to discuss the matter. The difficulty, however, was that he had no wish to travel through Mirkwood and he was fairly certain Thranduil would not appreciate hiking through the crisp air of the mountain passes. Instead, he was suggesting a compromise; that they hold the meeting part way between their two realms, on the broad flood plains either side of Anduin the Great.

The slight matter of the confusion of identities was not covered in the document; instead, Elrond had written a short, but pithy letter expressing his regret that Gaelbainil was not interested in Iauron, as she was enamoured of Belegornor, but his daughter Arwen might be persuaded to meet with the prince as it appeared they had already met. Tempted though he had been to lay the sarcasm on with a trowel, he knew it would be wasted on the king, and while the advisor would understand the meaning, it was not, after all, Arveldir's fault.

Well, the formal document looked fine. He signed with a flourish and was about to seal the letter, also, prior to seeking his lunch when there was a gentle tap at the door.

Elrond could not abide gentle tapping. You either knocked or you didn't. A gentle tap suggested timidity, lack of confidence, and Elrond wanted all his household to be confident around him.

'Yes, come in!' he called out. 'What is it?'

A woman dressed in the pale green robes of his healer's rooms came in. She had an anxious expression, no doubt made worse by his abruptness. He settled his temper, inclined his head, and tried to smile.

'Healer Feril, can I help you with something? I will be visiting the healing house later today.'

'Your pardon, Lord Elrond. It was thought that this matter should not wait.'

He raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a friendly, enquiring way and Feril passed him a carefully folded, rather small piece of parchment. His eyebrow arced still higher.

'Since it is addressed to me, I have read it, and in it, my friend Nestoril begs me to place the matter before you as one of some urgency, my lord.'

'This came by hawk? And from Mirkwood?'

Feril nodded. 'A peregrine falcon. It arrived not twenty minutes since and our falconer says the bird needs to be rested before it can return, but that he has a falcon that knows the way and could be sent within the hour, if required.'

Elrond unfolded the parchment with swift fingers and scanned it, his face becoming more serious as he read the message. King Thranduil's second son! How was it he could go years without contact from the Woodland Realm and then two messages arrive within days of each other?

'Have you any experience of this… condition, Feril?'

'No, Lord Elrond, I never have. Other than hearing about the prince's mother, that is.'

'Nor I. We were not consulted at the time. So I shall need to go to my books and see what might be discovered. Most gifts of foresight are not accompanied with such negative symptoms.'

'May I help, my lord?'

'If you wish and your duties permit, yes, I am sure you would be a help to me. Shall we head to the library?'

He came out from his desk and held the door for her, asking the attendant outside to bring lunch for two to the library.

It was going to be a long afternoon.


	22. Chapter 22: Replies and Responsibilities

_Please note that due to a misposting of an early draft of a previous chapter, there may appear to be some continuity issues for those readers who have not read the updated chapter 20. _

_Please accept my apologies for this and I hope it has not spoiled your enjoyment too much._

Thranduil sat in state in his throne room. His legs were elegantly crossed, the robes of office he wore falling away to reveal the smooth suede of his leggings, the elaborate leatherwork of his boots. His formal crown was in place and he was waiting.

He held audience one morning a week, permitting anyone who wished to approach and speak to him on whatever topic was troubling them. He prided himself on his availability, and saw the lack of attendance at these things as a sign that his people were more-or-less happy with the way he was running things; it never occurred to him for a moment that Arveldir might be subtly intercepting some of these would-be supplicants, and if he had known, he would have been quite put-out about it.

He looked hopefully up when he heard the large double doors opening, but subsided again when he saw who was approaching; Arveldir.

'Lord Arveldir, good morning. Are you here for audience?' he said lightly, jokingly, for Arveldir had access to him at all times anyway.

'My king, there has been a communication received this morning which ought not wait.

'Very well.' Thranduil waved him forward and Arveldir came to stand on the dais near the throne.

'A messenger hawk sent to the healers at Imladris three mornings ago has returned.' Arveldir unfolded one of the documents in his hands. 'And contained inside the…'

'Imladris?' Thranduil said sharply. 'I was not aware that we have consulted Imladris for anything in recent years?'

'Be that as it may, my king, the healers are dealing with the matter now. Within the missive was a smaller note addressed to you under cipher.' Arveldir stepped forward with the small, folded piece of parchment. 'But, perhaps I ought to remind my king that it was only a few days ago that you were talking of contacting Imladris to solicit the interest of the family of a lady with whom Prince Iauron… and I…'

Thranduil did not appear to be listening. Instead he was frowning at the parchment. Suddenly he lifted his eyes and fixed Arveldir with a terrifying stare.

'Apparently we have written to Imladris. And this is a response to that letter. And I very much fear you have been imposed upon, Arveldir. I spoke of a delegation to Imladris, a formal approach. With banners and outriders and… and bugles. I would never suggest a letter. To Imladris!'

Arveldir's jaw dropped.

'But, my King! When Prince Iauron came to me with the draft letter, I was certain he said you had asked him to bring it to me and… oh.'

Thranduil turned his attention back to the letter simply to distract himself. And burst out laughing.

Arveldir looked up in shock; he could not remember the last time such a sound had been heard in the palace throne room, but the king was transformed with mirth. Presently he subsided and wiped his eyes.

'Tell me, Arveldir, do you remember the name given to her seducer by the Laketown woman Iauron was dallying with?'

'Indeed, my king, you found it quite amusing, I believe. Iauron presented himself to her under the identity of one Belegornor…'

'As I thought, Arveldir. Oh, but this is most entertaining! Will you please do me the favour of bringing Prince Iauron here? Immediately? And then enquire, of Healer Nestoril, if she has learned anything of import from her communication, but please do so in all sincerity since I doubt she realised I would have preferred her not to contact Imladris for advice.'

Healer Nestoril had been visiting with Tharmeduil when word came that the bird had returned. Well, they referred to it as a visit, but really it was one of her twice-daily attendances on him to monitor his health. This, done under the guise of sharing breakfast, and taking supper, had become very pleasant ways of spending an hour or so and Nestoril had been pleased that Tharmeduil's condition appeared to have stabilised, at least for the moment. Tharmeduil was continuing the practice of drawing out his dreams and adding notes to them, and this seemed to have prevented any day-time intrusion of the headache-induced visions which had been so worrying.

The knock on the door had come just as they were talking through a minor detail on one of Tharmeduil's more recent drawings.

'No, I know my brother and that is he!' Tharmeduil was protesting. 'It is Legolas, and he is cuddling an elf! In public!'

'But I do not doubt it is Legolas! My argument is with the word 'cuddling'. You see, I think he is trying to give water to the elf in his arms…'

'He looks like he wants to give him something, I agree, but look at how he's gazing into those eyes…'

'Tharmeduil, you are a rogue!' she protested, laughing, and rose to answer the door where the knock had sounded again. 'That is how a healer looks to see if a person is properly awake! Healer Maereth! I am needed?'

'Yes, Healer Nestoril. The falconer sends to say the bird is back.'

'But it is only the fourth day! That was remarkably swift!' She turned back to Tharmeduil . 'I will see you this evening, my prince. Do not overtire yourself.'

'Iauron. Do approach; I feel no need to strain my voice. Arveldir, that will be all.'

'Are you sure, my king? I wonder if I…'

'Arveldir, I thought you had a message to the healer hall to deliver?'

'It is done, my king.'

'Thank you. Please go away. Do not go far, but go.'

Arveldir bowed, leaving with regret. He'd been looking forward to this encounter.

'Good morning, father,' Iauron wondered what he'd done now. Or what he hadn't done. Or…

His father was hiding his mouth behind two or three elegant fingers. If Iauron hadn't known better, he could have thought that Thranduil was hiding a smile.

'I have had an unexpected communication from Imladris,' Thranduil began, noting Iauron's gulp and air of confusion. 'It was a surprise, to say the least. I have only just begun to make preparations for the deputation when, by messenger hawk, I received the following note. Ah, my son, I do believe you must prepare for disappointment.'

'D… disappointment, Adar?'

Thranduil nodded, his eyes kind and his mouth firmly under control. 'Indeed. For your lady of choice, so I learn, goes by the name of Gaelbainil, and she is enamoured of another.'

'What? I mean… that is…'

'However, I understand that the Lady Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond himself, no less, is interested in meeting with you. That is, she seems to already have met you.' Thranduil tipped his head to the side the better to survey the range of emotions passing across Iauron's face more swiftly than shadows across the forest. 'So, my son. Your thoughts?'

'Um… that is… I…' Iauron steadied himself. 'I thought it would be… helpful if I started taking over some responsibility and so I… IdraftedoutalettertoImladrisandit*may*have accidentallygot sentoffbymistake…' He paused, gulping for air. 'Sorry.'

Thranduil was moved to get up and turn his back while he tried to force his mouth to stop smirking. He shook his head.

'Adar, I'm sorry, really, I… But, look, if Arwen wants to look me over… it'd be good for us, wouldn't it?'

'Well, let me consider…' Thranduil put his clenched fists on his hips, turning back with a swagger to look at his oldest son. 'A meeting with Imladris is perhaps long overdue. Besides, it could be that the passage of time will have diminished your interest in the lady Gaelbainil and you may even find you can approve her choice. His name is Belegornor.'

'B…Belegornor?'

'Does the name not sound familiar to you, my son?'


	23. Chapter 23: The Old Ways

Nestoril waited until she was in her study and seated behind her desk before unfolding the message with shaking fingers; she could not bear to have anyone see her reaction, just in case it was bad news. She would need privacy, and a little time, if so, to consider how to break the news.

The reply had been written in Feril's neat hand in such tiny script that Nestoril needed to hold it close to her nose to read.

'My dear Nestoril. I have laid this matter before my lore master. He has little help to give, without seeing the sufferer, although he tells me he is prepared to make at least half the journey.'

Nestoril's eyes widened at that. Although…

Yes. She did seem to remember Tharmeduil, on page nine of his rapidly-expanding collection, drawn what appeared to be a large encampment spread out on both sides of a river. He had even added tiny banners, fluttering in the breeze.

'Meanwhile, Lord Elrond suggests following the methods used amongst the Noldor for those whose foresight is awakening: Do not let him push at his visions, as that will strain him. Do not make him hide what he sees, for the holding in of it may damage him…'

Now Nestoril frowned. Could that be part of what had happened with Tharmeduil's mother? Had not she said, when finally it was known, that she had suppressed her visions, for fear of being thought fey?

Thranduil's consort had been a gentle, humour-filled lady. She had adored her children, but loved her king-consort too much, she had said, to marry him, for she had more of a sylvan wildness about her than she had Sindar graces, and did not think herself a fitting spouse for King Thranduil.

Nestoril had liked the lady for herself, but more for how she had loved her lord and her children. She it was who had pulled him back from the darkness following his father's death. And when she, in turn, had died, it had almost broken Thranduil to lose her.

And now the king was facing the possibility of losing his son as well.

'One thing my lord suggests,' Feril's script continued. 'Look to the sylvan heritage of his blood; it's possible this is no sickness but magic, old magic, and that is where his cure – or ease – may be found.'

There came a break in the message, and Nestoril knew the remainder of the message was from Feril herself.

'And so I would say: Look to the old ways. You know what they are and where to find them, even if the king would claim they are no more than a fancy, a tradition of the long-gone past. For although King Thranduil would deny them, you may find that they have not denied him.'

Nestoril folded the letter and got to her feet. The king must, of course, be informed of the information the missive had brought. But since it contained no immediate fear or hope, she decided to write a short note for Lord Arveldir; she really wanted to act on Feril's suggestion straight away.

But as she was rising from her desk to leave, there came a knock at the door and Arveldir himself entered the room.

'Forgive the intrusion – you appear to be going somewhere, Healer?'

'Indeed so; I have heard from my friend and was about to research a suggestion she has made.' Nestoril smiled and handed over the note. 'I was going to leave this for you at the desk; our king will wish to know the news and, although there is little at this point, the gist of the matter is all here and I would be glad to speak to him further, should he wish it.'

'My thanks, Nestoril.' Arveldir inclined his head. 'I'll leave you to your work.'

Once Arveldir had left, Nestoril collect the short bow she favoured and a quiver of arrows from the trunk in her sleeping room. Even though she would be staying close to the palace complex, one could not be too careful.

Leaving the closely-watched palace perimeter, she smiled at the respectful greeting of the guards as she passed. They were used to the healers going out beyond the perimeter from time to time, seeking plants for their remedies.

But Nestoril wasn't out collecting herbs today.

There was a faint track which led behind the palace complex into the forest to the east. It wound and fell and rose and finally ended at a natural arch made of holly, silver-barked and glossy leaved.

Nestoril bowed her head in reverence and paused for a moment before passing between the trees into a wide, open glade, ringed with more holly standing silver sentinel, the trees of the forest beyond arcing up in a bright canopy.

Her eyes adjusting to the emerald light, she inhaled deeply of the sweet, moist air. It was always so here, this strange, emerald twilight, always warm and deep and always serene and sad.

This was the grove of the _fëar_ trees of the House of Thranduil, and some said it was as ancient as the sylvan forest itself, only its inhabitants changing, year on shifting year.

Her eye was drawn first to a huge and stately grey willow. In spring, the tips of its branches were covered with the little fuzzy grey cats' paws of nascent buds, but despite that, it felt, she thought, rather sad. According to tradition, this tree had been here longest, for thousands of years.

The willow didn't look that old, but that was the way of it with _fëar_ trees. Once associated with the _fëa_ of a person, the tree took on some aspects of the nature of the _fëa_. So this grey willow was as old and as rigid as King Thranduil himself.

The youngest tree in the grove was a rowan with bright, light foliage and a lithe and slender trunk. It was flanked by a silver birch with a little more age beside which an over-vigorous cherry tree looked about to burst into fruit at any moment, even though it wasn't the right time of year yet. Iauron' s tree, that one, Legolas the rowan – in autumn smothered with bright gold berries rather than the usual red – and Tharmeduil reflected in the silver birch.

There was one other tree in the grove, another silver birch standing on the far side of the glade. It looked dry. Desiccated – not dead, as such, but held in stasis at the point where it had stopped growing, at the point where the _fëa_ connected to it had left. Nestoril went to it to try, as she had so often in the past, to read its story. She laid a hand on the rough bark, took a step back and walked all around the tree. She stood back and took in the overall shape and structure, the balances and imbalances, and finally, she sat down with her back to the still-living birch and looked across at Tharmeduil's tree opposite.

It took a few moments for her to truly settle and relax and allow her mind to rest to the point where she could let her thoughts meander and mingle with the energies of the grove. The legends said that with enough skill and time, it was possible to read the whole history of a person from their _fëa _tree. All the inner hopes and fears one might try to keep hidden would become apparent, in time, in the tree, and while an illness might not show externally on a person, might it not, perhaps, show in their _fëa_ tree?

The birch at her back had been connected to the _fëa _of Thranduil's consort, the mother of the princes. As Nestoril drew on her impressions, she thought about how the birch was attenuated and spindly on one side, reaching too high and fast to the sky. The other side of the tree was blighted, broken, as if the tree had suffered repeated lighting strikes; it hadn't, of course. It was simply that, whatever had caused such strange devastation to the tree, it was but a reflection of what had happened to its _fëa._

She had never properly considered, before now, the possibility that the deformities of the tree might be a reflection of Thranduil's dead consort's visions. But now, as she pondered and mused, it began to make sense. Try to hide the visions and disregard them, and the result is a stunting and a repression. Try to force visions to come after previously rejecting them and they proliferate too wildly…

Rising to her feet, Nestoril crossed the glade to the younger silver birch, looking it over, examining it, stroking the bark, turning over the leaves to look at their backs. She walked away to fix the tree's proportions in her mind, glad to see it strong and healthy and growing well.

Moved by an impulse, a whim, she put her arms around the trunk of the silver birch and gave it a gentle hug.

'Don't fear, Tharmeduil,' she whispered to the bark. 'I have you. I'll keep you safe.'


	24. Chapter 24: Of Homecomings and Healers

WIDS 24: Of Homecomings and Healers

It was with something very much like relief in his heart that Legolas walked the last few hundred yards of the path that brought the, finally out within sight of the Great Gates of the palace. He smiled broadly, especially as a rough, dissonant cheer went up from the elves travelling with him.

'Not long now!' he said, turning to face the three elves with him. 'Good food, soft beds! Well-deserved, all of you!'

'All of us,' Govon said. 'Don't forget to count yourself amongst us!'

Legolas clasped Govon briefly on the shoulder for a moment. He truly did feel. After eight days spent on one flet or another, and three more hiking home through Mirkwood, that he was one of them; it was a good feeling, to truly believe he deserved their respect. He had worked for it, he supposed, caring for Govan and his two companions while they were spider-sick, carefully raising their heads and giving them water, checking their eyes for signs of wakefulness when the sickness was at its heaviest. For instead of the three being on the way to recovery as Tinuon had so confidently assumed when he left Legolas in charge, they grew sicker throughout the day, and the promised relief did not arrive until late evening and had begged Legolas not to leave him alone with the three sick warriors.

And so he had stayed and tended to them until finally a relief guard had been sent, bringing with it instructions for Legolas to escort the warriors home as soon as they were fit to travel.

And, finally, they were home.

'So, what say we take a breath, cast off our weariness, straighten our backs and march home like the proud warriors we are?'

This was said with a challenging grin and a lift of the brow, and they laughed, and all stood taller, and they fell into line, marching beside Legolas with dignity and pride towards the gates.

The guards outside opened the gates and sprang to attention as they saw the little band approach. Heads high, they marched through, managing to keep their bearing even after the gates had fastened behind them.

'Home in time for supper, what did I tell you? Follow me.'

Halfway down the main corridor and near the branch that led to the healer halls, Legolas heard himself hailed.

'My prince? Prince Legolas?'

'Lord Arveldir, greetings. His majesty the king will want to know we're back. Is Commander Bregon returned yet?'

'Indeed, my prince, two days since, and…'

'Good. I need to attend my warriors to the healer hall and then report to my commander…'

'But, my prince, King Thranduil wishes to see you at once!'

Legolas smiled. 'Tell my father I'm fine and that I'll come to him once I've got my warriors settled. He'll understand.' He turned to the warriors behind him. 'Come; let's go annoy Nestoril and her healers.'

But it wasn't Nestoril who came forward to greet them at the healer hall, but an assistant.

'I am Healer Gaelbes. What has happened? Oh!' She finished with a gasp. 'Is it you, Prince Legolas? I hardly knew you!'

'Such is the effect eleven days in Mirkwood will have on a person!' Legolas smiled. 'No, Healer. It is my friends who have been ill; I want you to make sure they've taken no lasting harm, if you will. All were victims of spider stings; not just the common spiders, but the guard spiders that protect the queens…'

'Oh? How long since?'

'Eleven days since the attack; I was with them the next day. Govon was worst injured; if I may leave my friends with you know, I need to report to the barracks now.'

Tharmeduil pushed his plate away, the food untouched. Healer Nestoril, joining him as was her custom for the evening meal, looked up from her own supper.

'Are you not hungry, Tharmeduil?' she asked.

For more than a week now they had been breaking fast and taking supper together, turning Nestoril's professional visits into social events and she had learned to phrase her questions with care so that Tharmeduil did not accidentally interpret them as requests for him to use his visionary insights. With every shared meal, however, she grew increasingly aware that Tharmeduil had predicted another attack of illness for himself around the time of his younger brother's return, and Legolas was expected home at any day now.

'Oh, I'm hungry!' Tharmeduil said, trying for a smile that turned into a grimace. 'But I know I'm going to be ill soon, and I'll just sick it up again all over the floor.'

'Well.' Nestoril set her cutlery together on her plate and went to help him up from the table. 'We had better get to the healer hall, then, so that we can properly care for you.'

'No, I have the attack here,' he said, pressing the palm of one hand to his left eye and gasped. 'Now, in fact.'

'Oh, dear! Come, then!'

Quickly she put her arm under his and helped him through to his sleeping room.

'Nestoril… it's all going black…'

'The bed is here. Lie down, on your side.' She helped him settle, patting his hand. 'There. I'm here, I'll stay with you.'

'…black and red… it's the first thing I ever saw, and it's back again…'

Nestoril put one hand on his shoulder to steady him, the other on his forehead. Expecting him to be burning up, she was surprised when his skin was cool, clammy almost.

'You have to believe me!' Tharmeduil cried, his voice urgent.

'Of course I believe you, so many things as you have said which have come to be, Tharmeduil. Black and red, as with your first…'

'The earth is opening! The earth is opening, and in the red and black and the orange, they are released. They are released, and they are filled with the old, old hungers…'

'Tharmeduil, what is it? Who are released?'

Tharmeduil opened his eyes to look at her and she almost flinched at the sight. His gentle light-blue eyes had filled with red, blood trapped between the protective nictitating membrane and the surface of the eyes. As she looked in pity and horror, a mixture of blood and lachrymal fluids began to overflow, running in multiple rivulets down his face.

'They will come. They will break free and they will come…' he whispered. 'And they are famished.'

'What are, Tharmeduil? Please, tell me? Who will come?'

He turned his blood-filled eyes to her.

'Dragons,' he said.


	25. Chapter 25:Welcome

Chapter Twenty Five: Welcome Home

'What is it now, Arveldir?'

'My king, Prince Legolas has returned and he sends to say he is well, but must see some injured comrades to the healer hall before he can attend you.'

'Very well. I grow tired with the throne room; let him attend me in my library once he is done playing the captain.'

Only one who knew King Thranduil well would have recognised the expression that flitted behind his eyes as one of relief. Arveldir saw it and kept his smile to himself.

'Of course, my king. I will see to it that he is informed.'

He made his way from the throne room and headed towards the barracks to intercept Legolas, and now he was alone, he permitted himself the smile. In the throne room there were always guards at the doors and the edges of the hall, vast though it was, and whatever Thranduil said there was as a king spoke. In his library, or his study, or his private chambers, he could be the father and not just the king.

Legolas was just crossing the practice ground as Arveldir left the main palace building and waved a hand in greeting as his father's advisor bowed in his direction.

'I'm ready for my bath now, Lord Arveldir, but I suppose I mustn't keep the king waiting?'

Arveldir smiled. 'Indeed, your father wants you in his library as soon as you are done with your duties.'

'Well, if he's that eager, he can have me, and my body odour, in five minutes! How have things been, Arveldir? Is there anything I should be aware of?'

Arveldir shook his head. 'I do not believe so, my prince. Your brothers are both well, although Prince Tharmeduil has kept to his rooms of late. There has been of general note. I am sure your father will apprise you of anything else of relevance.'

'Discreet as ever, Lord Arveldir. Thank you for seeking me.'

Legolas smiled and turned away to head towards his father's private rooms. He didn't really feel like smiling now; tiredness was beginning to catch up with him. An hour, that's all he wanted. An hour – half of an hour – to wash and change and wash his hair. He felt as if he'd brought half the forest home in his head, and itched as much as if he'd brought some of the smaller wildlife with him, too!

And he was famished. True, he and his little band had no lack, but while waybread and water kept you on your feet remarkably well, they did not comfort the heart in quite the same way as wine and meat

Well, an order was an order. He could wash and eat and sleep later.

He tapped at the door to the library and heard his father calling him in.

Thranduil was standing near the window looking out when he heard the knock at the door and summoned his visitor inside. He hoped it wasn't Arveldir with news that he couldn't find his son, he hoped it was his son himself.

And it was.

'You wanted me, Father?'

'Indeed.' Thranduil turned to look at him, trying not to be obvious, to keep his raking eyes impassive as they ran over his son, making sure he was not injured, checking he was safe. He sniffed suddenly. 'What have you been doing? You smell like a spider died on you!'

'More than one, actually,' Legolas said lightly. 'Oh and some of the warriors vomited on me, but not deliberately and not recently.'

'Some of the warriors did what…?'

Legolas grinned. 'They were spider-sick, father.'

'Come, sit down.' Thranduil's mouth twitched. 'That is, as long as you are dry enough not to wipe dead spider or old vomit on my chairs.'

Legolas threw himself into a seat near the window with relief. 'It's been a long walk home.'

'Tell me all. I have time.' Thranduil found a decanter of golden wine and poured for them both. 'Have you eaten?'

'Lembas, on the road. It's fine, father, the wine is good.' Legolas took a sip. 'It's very good.'

'So, my son, when you left I thought you would have a quiet tour of duty; a minor incursion of spiders to control and then time to familiarise yourself with that region of the forest. I thought you would have time to reflect on the tedium our warriors often have to endure. Instead I find you are thrust into heroics of one sort or another…?'

'Ha, yes. It was certainly not tedious! You will have heard that our first camp was overrun with spiders which seemed to be migrating in haste. My commander sent me to the northwards flets to see if all was well there; we found some warriors were sick and as I had least experience of the routes to the flets, I was deemed the best person to stay and tend them.' He drank deeply of the golden wine, breathing in its fumes. 'Once they were well enough to travel, again it was thought I was best to guard them as we came home; I did not take over leadership, Adar, you made it plain I lacked experience and you were right; I doubt I would have made the best decisions under the circumstances…'

Thranduil shook his head and reached across to top up Legolas' glass.

'It was not my intention to imply I felt you had disobeyed me; I must confess to a certain amount of concern when the injured returned and you were not with them… I would have expected your commander to send you back then…'

'He would have, if I'd agreed.' Legolas flashed a smile. 'But, indeed, I would have felt a disappointment to you, had I done so. As it is, I feel I have done work of value.'

'You have, Legolas.' Thranduil raised his glass to his son. 'But I am glad you are home, nonetheless.'

'How is my brother? Both of them, that is, but when I left, Tharmeduil was with the healers?'

'Iauron has been his usual delightful, entertaining self…'

'Ah.'

'Quite. Tharmeduil… Healer Nestoril attends him twice daily; he has not been ill since that first attack and we hope he has stabilised. I fear he is beginning to get bored with being confined to his rooms, but now you are returned, you might perhaps spend time with him?'

'I'd be glad to. I'm glad to hear he's been all right.'

'You could begin this evening, if you are not too tired once you have bathed and eaten.' Thranduil permitted himself to smile. 'From which I have kept you long enough. Welcome home, my son.'


	26. Chapter 26: Unclear Insight

Chapter Twenty Six: Unclear Insight

Tharmeduil didn't feel all right; he felt dreadful. His eyes were filled with black and red and his head felt as if there was an axe buried in his skull.

And the images marching behind his eyes were relentless. Implacable. Terrible.

He clenched his body tight, curling up and cringing away from the pain, but it followed him. From somewhere far away, he heard a wail.

A voice hushed and a cool hand rested on his forehead.

'Be still, Tharmeduil. It will pass, I promise you.' The voice was familiar and gently reassuring. 'Come. We know it helps for you to talk through your visions. Talk to me, and I will write them down for you. Whatever you wish to say, I will note it.'

'There is so much pain,' he whispered, surprised to learn that when he spoke, the wailing ceased. 'It… ah, it burns! They are burning!'

Was this vision, or symptom? Nestoril didn't know, but she wrote down Tharmeduil's words.

'They burn and he weeps. So much lost hope. So many partings. Grey wood and silver sails on blue between blue… why does he weep, when he saved us all? Does he not see how he saved us? Ah, but he can't save him, he has to save himself…'

Tharmeduil broke off as an intense surge of grief swamped him.

'I see, but I cannot speak. I hear, but I cannot tell. I know, oh how I know but I cannot share my knowledge. I cannot tell him what to do. I cannot help. My hands do not obey me. My feet only obey another. I am not able. I cannot… I cannot…'

'We will take care of you, Tharmeduil. If you need to be led, we will lead you safely to where you need to be for your well-being…'

'We ought not go. If we do not go, then we will not burn. But then we will not stop them, and if they are not stopped, they will rage through Middle Earth. And it is too late to stop the others from going, and if we are not there, they will burn in our place and much more will be lost. We cannot let it be lost. We have to go. But tell them to bring the healers… oh. But they each have one, so that is good…'

This made no sense! This was mere ravings… Except by now Nestoril understood this was just the start of the process and that over the next few days after his attack faded, Tharmeduil would refine and redefine his visions, bringing some kind of order to them. Indeed, they had even been playing a sort of game, checking off his predictions against actual events.

'Sometimes… sometimes he forgets he isn't him. Our adar is not his adar. He can't see. He can't see. He may not again, ever. The willow has a bandage on it, will it help? Who can know? No need to bring us back, but you can't go straight away, he won't let you, though you should…'

His voice was rising, impassioned, and Nestoril sought to calm him.

'Tharmeduil, how is your pain now? Not your visionary pain, but the actual discomfort in your head?'

'My head is clearing. My head is clearing. It is not wrong to bring us home and leave again, but it wastes time. He cannot see that. He is in too much pain… Too much…'

Tharmedil gasped and his body spasmed. Trying to support him, hold him still, Nestoril was peripherally aware of a knocking at the outer door. It sounded loud, as if it had been going on for a while, and indeed, it could have been.

'Oh, please!' she called loudly. 'A help here! Come in, quickly!'

The door opened and she heard Legolas calling out.

'Where are you? What's wrong?'

'Through here, my prince!'

Legolas hurried through just as Tharmeduil cried out and rolled towards the edge of the bed. Legolas reached him just in time to slide onto his knees and catch his brother's shoulders, preventing him from falling while Nestoril tried to pull him back. He saw the relief in her eyes but had not time to say anything because Tharmeduil pushed forward again, retching, his head buried in Legolas' chest.

Legolas lifted his eyes heavenswards, but without complaint, just moved forwards and supported Tharmeduil's head, holding his hair back.

Nestoril handed him a damp cloth and he slid it into place on Tharmeduil's forehead until, finally, the fit of vomiting passed and Tharmeduil tried to move, reaching for the cloth to wipe his face with as he tried to get back onto the bed.

'Legolas… How long have you been back?' he asked.

Behind Tharmeduil, Legolas saw Nestoril's eyes close and open in relief.

'Long enough to take my friends to the healer hall, report to my commander, listen to father practice his stern voice…' Legolas grinned. 'Oh, and to eat, bathe and put nice clean clothes on!'

'Ah, I'm sorry! I…'

'Do not worry,' Legolas said lightly. 'It's not the first time in the last week or so, in truth. Just the first time for these garments.'

'It could have been worse,' Nestoril said. 'Your brother declined his supper, fearing this might happen.'

'Ha! My thanks, then, Tharmeduil! May I use your bathing room?'

'And my clothes, if it helps.'

'I think I might do so. Thank you.'

While Legolas was washing and donning borrowed clothes, Nestoril helped Tharmeduil get comfortable. Thanks to Legolas' sacrificial lap, and quick thinking, Tharmeduil's hair had escaped, and a fresh damp cloth soon had him feeling fresher.

'How is the pain now?'

'Fading, at last. Not so bad. But it was worse, this one. More intense. Did I say much?'

'We can go through it later.' Nestoril got to her feet. 'I think you'd be better in the healer hall tonight…'

'But if I do that, it will bring the headache back on. I know you wouldn't wish it on me. Would you?'

The healer raised an eyebrow appraisingly. 'Now, how do I know whether this is something you've seen or something you think could happen? I have many more facilities available to me at the healer hall…'

'But I'm more comfortable with my own things about me. Nestoril…'

She sighed. 'But I have to get back to my other duties and if you were there I could attend you, too. There are your insights to record, and I would want you to take a draught, at least…'

'Legolas will stay with me… would stay with me,' Tharmeduil suggested as his brother came back in in not-quite-fitting clothes. 'Wouldn't you?'

Legolas took a deep breath and pushed away thoughts of his own bed for the first time in almost two weeks.

'Of course I would,' he said.

Nestoril held his gaze, smiling gratitude and understanding.

'Well, I will go to my healer hall and bespeak such things as are needed here. I'll take a few moments with my duty assistants and then return. Tharmeduil, if you wish to freshen up, I'm sure your brother will help if you need it.'


	27. Chapter 27: Interruptions

Just as Thranduil was about to rise from seat in the study and seek the dining hall, there came a familiar knock at his door.

'What is it now, Arveldir?' he asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. There had been too many matters to deal with today already; a formal letter in response to the formal response from Rivendell suggesting a date for the two deputations to meet on the plain of the Great River. Preparations to be made for a scouting party to explore towards the preferred location for the meeting to ensure the route would be easy to traverse and comparatively safe. His youngest son to welcome home, although that had not been a matter to deal with so much as a welcome end to the day's duty.

Or he had hoped it to be the end of the day's duty.

Arveldir's face, when he entered, was worried.

'My king, I have Healer Nestoril outside…'

Thranduil's sense of grievance vanished.

'Nestoril, please, come in. Arveldir, thank you. I will not be dining in the Great Hall tonight after all, let it be known not to wait the serving.'

He gestured to her a seat and waited anxiously while she composed herself.

'My king, your son has had another attack. He is already recovering from it, so please, do not alarm yourself unduly…'

'Tell me?'

'It came on, perhaps fortuitously, while I was with him for my evening visit, and so I was able to attend him through it. Also, Prince Legolas arrived and helped, indeed, he is sitting with Prince Tharmeduil now so that I may speak to you. It was a relatively short attack, during which he spoke of several disturbing images. He has taken a restorative and is resting quietly now.'

She paused to allow the king time to assimilate this. No; not the king. Tharmeduil's father, for although she had feared Thranduil would retreat behind his regal mask, he hadn't yet done so and the worry was plain to read in his eyes.

'I see. I take it he has suffered no lingering effects?'

Nestoril tried to disguise her sigh.

'It is a little early to say. But, generally, he has recovered well…'

'Healer? What more is there of news?'

'There is a slight numbness to his left hand; a very minor thing, affecting just the last two digits and it is entirely likely that…'

Thranduil stopped listening. He remembered his consort, how she had taken attack after attack, her body becoming more crippled and damaged after each occasion. He remembered how her willowy form had twisted and failed and stopped feeling…

'My king!'

Nestoril's sharper-than-usual tone brought him back.

'Forgive me, Healer. I was… remembering his mother.'

'My king, we knew less, then. And your son is only very slightly affected; it may well pass. It is but that I would be failing in my duty if I did not keep you apprised of matters…'

'Will you take him to the healer hall, now?'

'He does not wish it. I would prefer to have him under my eye, but he claims his headache will return if he moves to my halls.' She gave a slight smile. 'I fear he is using his condition as leverage so that I will permit him his rooms.'

'I could, perhaps, persuade him?'

Nestoril shook her head. 'Prince Legolas has offered to stay with him tonight.'

'Offered? He is just back from a seven day tour of duty which became twelve…'

'Agreed, then.' Nestoril's mouth curved in a larger smile. 'He is really a very good brother.'

'Yes, I must confess that I find that I need to apologise for his behaviour far less than for Iauron's, for example. May I see my son, or would it worry him unduly if I were to do so?'

'If you would be happy to wait until the morning, my king, it might be better for him. It will also give me more time to properly assess his condition.'

'Of course. Thank you, Healer Nestoril.'

He rose with her and walked her to the door.

'I will visit my son in the morning, then.'

'Please, my king… Try not to worry.'

Thranduil returned to his desk and attempted to concentrate on something else for an hour. He busied himself with papers and considered the strange news from Mirkwood brought by Commander Bregon and supported by his own son's story; the arachnids had been migrating – fleeing towards the south east with no obvious reason. And not just the arachnids; the forest in that region had seemed empty, silent. He would need to consult with Arveldir, of course, but it seemed to him that there was a need to try to find out why.

Particularly if a large deputation from the palace was going to be travelling that way in order to meet the Rivendell folk at midsummer, the appointed time for the formal meeting. He was beginning to draw up rough timetables, factoring in the inertia of a large company of dignitaries compared with the swiftness of warrior companies, making adjustments for the fact that the company would be on horseback, but that there would be added time needed for making and breaking camp… not his problem, in truth, but it kept his mind occupied.

And then another knock at the door.

'Yes, what now?'

'It's just me, Adar.'

Thranduil looked up in surprise; Iauron was in the doorway, and he had a large tray balanced in one hand while he held the door with the other.

'Come in, Iauron. What have you there?'

'Food,' Iauron said, finding a space on his father's desk for the tray. 'Arveldir announced they weren't to wait the serving for you, so it was pretty obvious you were skipping supper again.'

Thranduil had hastily moved papers aside for the tray.

'And what business is it of yours, if I do?'

'None, Father. But when we were sparring last week, I noticed you were looking a bit sparse…'

'A bit…?'

'Well, there's slender and then there's thin, Adar, and…'

'Iauron, you seem to be under some misapprehension…'

'No. I thought you might be bored and needed someone to annoy you. Can I join you for supper, Adar? I brought enough for two… is it true Legolas is home?'

Thranduil sighed, managing to keep his face stern.

'Very well. Sit, eat with me. And yes, he is returned.' He helped himself to food, suddenly aware that, yes, he was hungry and, well, perhaps he had been forgetting to eat on occasion. 'It seems he had an interesting patrol.'

'I could do with one of those myself,' Iauron said around a mouthful of venison. 'Training ground is all very well, but I hear we're sending scouts out soon…?'

'Shortly. Not that I want you joining them; you have sufficient experience of the woods already…'

'You can never have too much experience in the woods, Adar. You say so yourself…'

'It would be better if you were at home. Tharmeduil is ill again.'

Iauron dropped the bread he was mopping his plate with.

'What? Father, I didn't know! When did it happen? How bad is he?'

'Be calm. It was this evening only and Healer Nestoril says he is already much recovered. You can see him in the morning.'

'Does Legolas know?'

'I understand Legolas arrived to visit him during the incident and has been prevailed upon to assist. He has had some experience of nursing duties during his patrol, so I hear.'

'Oh? What happened?'

'His lack of experience in the locations of the sentry outposts meant he was more fitted to looking after sick warriors than anything more warrior-like…'

Iauron listened, fascinated and entertained, while his adar recounted Legolas' misadventures to him. His plan of distracting his father into eating seemed to have worked, if not quite in the way he'd intended.

'You know, Adar, after hearing the full tale, I'll admit I'm not quite so sorry not to be going on patrol after all.'

'Besides, if you were away, you would not be able to spend your afternoons annoying Tharmeduil.' Thranduil permitted himself a smile at the surprised expression on Iauron's face. 'Oh, yes – I know you do so. And I notice you don't draw attention to the fact. Can it be that once more I have no reason to be disappointed in you?'

Iauron grinned. 'Don't worry, Adar – I'm sure it won't last!'


	28. Chapter 28: Interlude in Red and Black

Sometime the earth gives up its secrets readily. At other times, it guards them so jealously that they have to be ripped, torn from it.

And at other times it seems the earth cannot make up its mind whether to hold on to things or not.

Particularly when the past awakens into a new future…

It is said that after the great battles of the War of Wrath, the surviving dragons went north, into and beyond the Withered Heath or into the Northern Wastes, and there fell out of time. But who was there to see how many survived? Of what nature they were? How many, male and female, fire-drake, cold-drake, wyrm? Winged like Ancalagon or fiery, as was Glaurung?

One female. That's all it took.

One female and one male, rising in a brief, bright mating flight over the rims of the mountains, the male to crash and die as she turned her head and in her passion took his throat in her jaws and drank him dry even as he fell.

Who was there to see this? Did any note the distant flickers of sun on the scales in the sky and wonder what it meant?

The female landed near the ruin of her mate and found a lair in the rocks near his broken body. This was not the usual way of dragons, of course; normally she would have hunted fresh meat to nourish her body while her eggs within her grew, but times had changed and there was nothing more here to feed on, and so she ate from the carcass until it was time for her to lay her eggs.

A pitiful clutch it would have seemed to those who knew – for the great dragons of old would lay two dozen or more at a time. But the mingling and pooling of their different sorts was not without effect and only seven eggs were laid.

But the female did not know how paltry was her clutch. She brooded them anyway, wrapping her long red body around them, bringing her tail over her nose and allowing the heat of her inner fires to warm them.

Exhausted by the earlier exertions of the mating flight, weakened by the demands of her huge body, the female dragon – the last breeding female dragon – fell into a sleep from which she would not wake again.

And the dragonets inside the eggs grew and turned until their dam's body became too cool to supply their growth and they fell into cold-sleep.

And the world turned.

And time passed.

Something changed, something became so infinitesimally different that all the living creatures in the region fled – west, south north – and the earth bucked and bounced and opened and the last dragon, now a bag of hide and bones, still wound around her eggs, fell with them deep into a fissure in the earth.

So deep did she and her clutch fall that the earth there was warm, warm enough in time, to reawaken the dormant life in the eggs.

And as the land over them settled into new contours, and the creatures crept back to their homes, and the fissures closed, the dragonets began, once more, to grow.

And more time trickled by until, in the world outside, sensing something, the spiders were leaving Mirkwood and fleeing south-east through Mirkwood, trampling the forest and attacking anything or anyone that was in their way, over-running sentry posts and dying under the sky storm of elvish arrows.

The exodus coincided with, but was not sparked by, the eggs' readiness to hatch.

The place in which the last clutch now lay was deep inside the dark of the earth where there was a gentle, residual warmth from the core of the world. Still surrounded by the bones of their dam and a few shreds of lingering hide, the eggs began to rock and roll within the skeletal nest. Well – six of the seven stirred and moved. The seventh, long since addled, lay still, devoid of promise.

A faint noise from inside one of the more vigorous of the eggs as the dragonet inside began to really move. Its head with the little bump of egg tooth on the snout began to have an effect on the inner membrane of the egg, to bump against the shell from the inside. A tiny hole appeared as the egg pitted, and the little cries of the creature within became louder, loud enough to be heard inside the other viable eggs. Something about the sounds encouraged the other dragonets, and soon another egg was pitting, its infant creature struggling for freedom after the long, long confinement.

Dragons are sapient creatures, and history and legend tells that they have long memories. Just how long has never been determined; those who'd had the dubious blessing of conversation with a dragon had somehow never got around to asking if the dragon could remember being _in ovum_. But if so, and if the sapience of dragons developed at an early stage, then what of these, this last clutch? Would they remember the long, long years between initial quickening and relapse into cold-sleep? Had they dreamed?

What effect would the long, long gestation have had on their tempers?

Their sanity?

A hole at the end of one of the eggs and a head pushed out, dark with amniotic fluid. Forelimbs and body rapidly followed, and one final heave freed the dragonet from its egg. It flopped, exhausted, on the hard surface of the nest, giving its little, piping call to encourage its siblings.

At present it had no need to feed; the egg sac that had nourished it still held enough goodness for a day or two at least, and so it gathered its strength and waiting for the next of its siblings to hatch.

Within an hour, three more eggs had hatched and the hatchlings in various stages of recovery. The first out was mobile now, getting used to feet and tail, although as yet it hadn't tried to unfurl the tiny wings on its back. It was a soft, grey colour, more like to a wyrm than a drake, and it raised its head and hissed when one of the newer hatchlings fell over its long tail. This inconsiderate newcomer was a delicate pale red, but was lacking in wings completely, a throwback, perhaps, to Glaurung, the first named dragon. The two other hatchlings were both black, but one had no wings while the other did, and was already working those, although it hadn't seemed to realise it had other limbs to learn to manage.

Soon, however, all four were mobile, and explored around their bone-ringed environs. Walking over the as-yet-unhatched eggs caused the two remaining dragonets to push against their egg cases and renew their efforts to free themselves.

Within the hour they were out; two more red dragons, one winged, one not. Of course, flight would come later and so for the moment, there was no superiority of winged over unwinged. Nor were the dragonets old enough yet for flame, and so whether or not they were cold-drakes or hot would also wait to be answered.

But while all the dragons made a tumble together, seeking companionship and mutual warmth, the first-hatched, the grey winged wyrm, made its eyes into slits and drew away into itself.


	29. Chapter 29: Fulfilled Prophecies?

Wids Chapter 30

Legolas was up and dressed when he heard a soft tapping at the outer door of Tharmeduil's rooms.

'Healer Nestoril, good morning. Will you come in?'

'I will indeed, my prince. How was the night?'

'He's been awake a lot, writing and drawing, but he's sleeping now. He's not been ill again, though. No blood, no headaches.'

'That's excellent news. But what of you, Prince Legolas?'

'It's odd, hearing myself called 'prince' again.' He frowned. 'But, thank you for arranging for the bedding to be sent in. Not my own bed, but better than an open-sided flet. I don't suppose you know how my friends are?'

She smiled. 'I thought you'd ask. My healers say the care they've had has been instrumental in making sure they suffer no long-term issues…'

'Long-term? But…'

'Hunting venom and attack venom are not the same – we do not often come across attack venom and this sort seems to have been especially virulent.'

'The queens' guard spiders,' Legolas said. 'I've seen them at work, bigger than horses and as hard to kill as a hungry warg pack. But… my friends?'

'They will be fine. It may take a few weeks before the aches in their limbs properly leaves them and they are fit for duty, but don't fear – they'll be released from the healer halls by tomorrow at the latest. One – Govon – asked that his thanks be passed on to you.'

Legolas smiled. 'Govon was commander of the flet, and was worst affected. I worried over him.'

'Well, there is no need; he will be very well in time. Now. It has become a habit with me to break my fast with your brother. Today, I bespoke enough for three, if you will?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Nestoril – is it you?' Tharmeduil's voice said from the inner room.

'Indeed it is I,' Nestoril smiled and went in to him, trying to look as if she wasn't in a hurry. 'Did you sleep well?'

'I've had a lot to think about,' Tharmeduil said. 'Some of the things I saw…'

'Well, we can work on it after breakfast, if you like. Any pain today?' She checked him over as she worked; his pulse was steady and strong, his eyes had cleared, and although he looked a little pale, he seemed well. 'Any numbness now?'

'No – no, it's fine, Nestoril. See?' he showed her how his entire left hand moved freely now, responded, all the fingers moving as they should.

'Good. Get yourself washed and dressed. Breakfast will be here soon. Your brother is going to join us.'

Nestoril kept a quiet observation on her charge during breakfast. She said nothing, but saw everything. The very minor tremor to Tharmeduil's left hand, the slight pallor to his skin. But he talked and smiled easily enough, even if he didn't laugh.

'Oh, one thing, Legolas…' Tharmeduil began once eating was finished and they were savouring hot fruit tisanes. 'We – Nestoril and I spend so much time together that we tend to forget our titles a bit. And she's even been known to remove that head-covering of hers…' He glanced at the healer, whose was currently wearing her blue head rail. 'Sometimes.'

'It's my opinion,' Nestoril began, ignoring the comment about her head-covering, 'that my attendance seems less intrusive if we forget I'm a healer and your brother a prince.'

'Don't let me stop you!' Legolas said with his bright grin. 'For five days on the flet I was: 'Hey, fair elf!' to my charges. I quite liked not being a prince, although Govon was a bit startled when his vision cleared and he recognised who this particular 'fair elf' was!'

'Oh, was he the one I saw you cuddling?'

'What did you say?'

Nestoril smiled at the shocked expression on Legolas' face and hastened to explain Tharmeduil's question to him.

'One thing we do now is record your brother's insights. In one, he was sure he saw you…'

'Shall we look over them again, Nestoril?' Tharmeduil suggested. 'Now more things have happened?'

'All right. Clear the table and I'll fetch the records.'

Curious, Legolas helped his brother gather up the breakfast things onto a tray and moved it off the table while Nestoril brought over a roll of parchment sheets from on top of a dresser.

'Start with these,' she said, turning back to the dresser where more papers and notebooks were stacked. 'I'll bring the rest presently.'

'It was one of the early ones, Nestoril…' Tharmeduil began spreading the pages out while Legolas looked on, delighted and intrigued.

'Did you do all this? It's very beautiful!' he said.

The parchment spread before him was covered with many small, colourful pictures and patterns, interweaving, randomly placed. Some had been circled with a charcoal line; an image of spiders rushing down the page, a hawk in flight, his father speaking with a group of warriors.

Tharmeduil tapped a spot on the page where someone who was obviously Legolas was staring into the eyes of another elf, cradling him in his arms.

'That's Govon!' Legolas exclaimed. 'And while I hate to disappoint you, he was very sick at the time and I was concerned for him; I was merely…'

'You say so now. Perhaps the cuddling of Govon is in your future? He wouldn't mind, you know…'

'Tharmeduil!' Legolas protested. 'I do not know why everyone is so keen to assign me to someone…'

'Perhaps because we don't like to see you alone. We know you feel it, sometimes.'

Legolas opened his mouth to expostulate, but Nestoril returned then with more papers and notebooks.

'So, we can circle the scene with Govon,' she suggested, careful not to use the word 'cuddle'. 'Ah. I note that on the first page there is only this, now.' She indicated an area of the page that seemed to show a divided landscape; it was a recurring theme on all the sheets and they had not quite sorted out its meaning yet. 'But as this appears on other pages, shall we mark it anyway?

Tharmeduil nodded. 'It feels good, to know everything on there has been dealt with.'

'Indeed. And what else can we see now that has come to pass?'

'Did you go and bandage that tree yet?'

Nestoril started, for she had indeed been thinking about returning to the grove of the fëar trees, although she doubted it would have occurred to her to apply a dressing to Tharmeduil's beech… but if he had seen it, perhaps it might help…

'Not yet. But I was intending to do so, when I have some time to spare.'

'Better leave that for now, then. But here.' Tharmeduil went to another sheet. On it was a small picture of four figures approaching the Great Gate. They held themselves tall, but there was something about the colours set around them to suggest something amiss. 'And here…' Another image, not far from the arriving figures, and it showed someone curled up in pain, someone who seemed, to Legolas, to have more than a passing resemblance to Tharmeduil.

'You, coming home,' Tharmeduil said. 'And me being ill last night.'

'You knew? You knew when you'd be ill?'

Tharmeduil nodded. 'More or less.' He grinned. 'You know, you got off lightly last night. If I hadn't known, I'd have had more to eat and…'

'Yes. You are my brother and I love you dearly, but that really was rather a test of my fraternal affection, especially as your clothing does not fit me.'

'Well, it's not likely to happen again,' Tharmeduil said. 'These attacks stop around Midsummer or just after.'

'What's this?' Nestoril said, reaching for a notebook and a writing stick. 'Is this new, or…?'

'No. It's just… clearer. There are more things to happen before then…'

'Go on, Tharmeduil?'

Legolas watched in fascination as Tharmeduil spoke and Nestoril began to hastily write in the notebook.

'…it's to do with the journey I keep seeing. A big one, it's… two houses coming together at the Great River… We're all there, you too, Nestoril… I'm ill, a lot, on the journey, when we get there… it's like I'm using the visions… but… then it stops. Everything becomes very calm and very dark. It's like the most beautiful night under the stars, all is soft and gentle and… and safe. I'm aware of sadness, but I don't know why and I don't know if it's me that's sad or if it comes from outside myself…'

He stopped and smiled swiftly.

'Nestoril, don't worry about it! I'm sure it'll be fine. Oh, and we should cross off the one where my father and Iauron are here, too, because Adar is on his way now and he's got our brother with him…'

Legolas made to get to his feet. 'Perhaps I should just…'

'Oh, no!' Tharmeduil grabbed his wrist. 'It's on the paper that you're here, so here is where you have to be!'


	30. Chapter 30: Yarnbombing, Imladris Style

Arwen smiled to herself as she worked, her crochet hook flashing in the sunlight. Behind her, the long glazed doors to her private rooms stood open while she and her companion-handmaid sat out in the bright garden beyond. It was a pleasant, sheltered place to sit and work; the sun was warm for the time of year, the breeze kept at bay by the building at her back and the deep, green hedges around the grassy lawn.

A date for the meeting between Imladris and Mirkwood had been agreed and her father had suggested she start to make preparations, for it was a long journey and such finery as she chose to take had to be ready for the third week of May at the latest. It was now mid-April, her dresses were ordered, her shoes chosen and she was now at work on appropriate gifts for the important persons in the Mirkwood contingent.

Arwen had given the matter considerable thought, and had come to the conclusion that, in a court largely lacking the feminine touch, perhaps some soft furnishings might bring a note of elegant comfort to Mirkwood's palace, especially as she had heard it was a gloomy place indeed.

She had spent the last two days crocheting an intricate pattern of clustered stitches into squares before combining them into larger pieces to make a cushion for King Thranduil's throne; it was carved from stone, she had heard, and very grey and cold. But now there was a nice, bright padded pillow to cheer it up and make it more appealing. Cosy.

The king's gift sorted, she had moved on to presents for the royal princes. Since they were brothers, and she had no wish to show favouritism in these tokens, she had decided to make them all the same thing; a pair of ear warmers each, just the thing to keep the points pert and pink and warm in the coldest of weather.

One pair of pale blue ear warmers finished, Arwen was on the second row of the next one when she stopped and looked up.

'Do you hear that?' she asked.

'Hear what, my lady?' her companion-maid asked. 'There is nothing.'

'Yes. No birdsong. The valley is too still.'

And then there did come a noise, a faint rumble, and the ground began to shiver and shake.

Biting down a comment to the effect that perhaps Lady Arwen should have kept her observations on the stillness of the valley to herself, the companion hurried to Arwen's side. Both shuddered and shivered as the ground beneath them danced and trembled. From within the rooms behind came a rattle and a clatter as something fell from a shelf or a table.

Gradually the tremors subsided, stopped.

'Oh! What was that?' Arwen gasped.

'I do not know. Are you hurt?' her companion asked.

'Yes, indeed. But that was so strange!'

'Lady Arwen? Where are you?' The voice came from inside the building, and she recognised it as belonging to her father's chief advisor. 'My lady?'

'We're out here, Erestor,' she called. 'And quite well.'

The advisor appeared at the door to Arwen's rooms and came towards her, his usual expression of mild disapproval replaced by one of startled concern.

'Your father sent me to seek you.'

'Thank you, Erestor,' Arwen replied. 'What was that? Do you know?'

'An earth shock, we think. They happen from time to time, but I have not known one in this region for quite some time.' He offered his thin hand to help her up from her seat on the grass. 'May I help you?'

'I can manage.' Arwen gathered her crochet and passed it to her companion-maid before jumping to her feet.

'You've been busy, I see.' Erestor smiled his polite, tight smile. 'Gifts for the Royal House of Mirkwood, I presume?'

'Indeed,' Arwen said. 'I hear it's a cold and gloomy place, so a little wool work with brighten and soften the edges a little.'

A sudden mental image of King Thranduil's throne covered with a bright crocheted blanket and the points of the famed moose-antler canopy festooned with dangling multihued bunting cheered Erestor's outlook considerably and he actually forgot himself so far as to really smile; Lord Elrond's study was already adorned with Lady Arwen's practice pieces, proving just what a loving father she had and keeping Erestor quietly entertained for days now.

'I'm sure the result will be quite charming,' he said, walking beside her to Elrond's study and knocking on its open door for her. 'My lord Elrond, here is Lady Arwen.'

'Thank you, Erestor. Arwen, my dear, come in. Shut the door.'

'Father, what is it? What was that? Erestor said an earth shock, but…'

'Sit down. It was only an earth tremor, a mild one. Mild here, that is. Without knowing where it began or how far away it was, I cannot say for certain. I would have sent for you later today anyway, but after that, I wanted to make sure…'

Was Adar going to ask her if she really wanted to go ahead with meeting Belegor… with Iauron again? He'd been asking here every few days since the whole tale had come to light, not with any view to swaying her, he had said, but just to check. Before he put too many resources into it.

'…you were not afraid. It is possible there may be more of these tremors over the next few days; it is the way of such things.'

She gave a little sigh of relief. It had become tedious, repeating that, yes, she wanted to meet Iauron in spite of the mild deception of their initial borrowed identities.

'And I write to Mirkwood today, by messenger hawk, so it will be a short missive, but if you had a brief message for your swain, I would be happy to include it. I would need it in my hand by the mid-afternoon chimes, though, for the hawk will be released shortly after while there is still enough daylight for the bird to reach the cover of the forest to roost overnight.'

'Thank you, father.' Arwen smiled. 'I'll start thinking about it at once.'


	31. Chapter 31: A Flet-Dream Coming True

WIDS 31: A Flet-Dream Coming True

Legolas went straight to his chambers where he exchanged his borrowed clothes for some of his own that properly fitted him, intending to head for the barracks and find out more details of the arachnid migration; the repeated images in Tharmeduil's records had made him eager for more information.

About to leave the chamber, he noticed a basket on the table near the door in his sitting room and went over to examine it.

Inside he found a loaf of fresh bread, butter and honey and cheese and a bottle of good, red wine. And a note, the contents of which made him smile.

'My prince,' it began. 'In memory of the nights we sat up talking about what we'd have first when we got home, and with thanks for your care of the company. We expect to be released from the healer hall and back at our own tables for our midday meals.'

Yes. There had been at least three nights they'd spent dreaming of home. Govan's two sentries had spent much time talking about their wives and their families, but he had claimed he wanted simpler pleasures; bread and butter and wine had seemed riches beyond measure after a week of lembas and water. The gift seemed disproportionally thoughtful, and he wondered what Govon had been thinking when he'd sent it. Probably no more than was in the card; just thanks. Now, what had been Govon's flet-dream? Ah, yes. 'To sit at ease on the greensward outside the palace and drink beer with a friend or two.'

Well, maybe he could do something about that.

Legolas found himself feeling unexpectedly nervous as he made his way through the palace, the basket, now considerably heavier, at his side. He'd talked the cellarer out of a few bottles of the fine, light honeyed beer that was brewed on a very small scale in the palace; it was much superior to the imported brew from Laketown but so little was made that it was usually kept for the high table.

He found himself wondering as he walked. It had seemed such a good notion when it had occurred to him; to personally visit Govon with beer and offer to be one of the one or two good friends he sat at ease with on the greensward, but the nearer Legolas got to Govon's chambers, the more uneasy he became. Warriors typically lived in the barracks, or in small, simple chambers in the wing nearest them. But Govon seemed to have chambers further from the practice ground than was usual, and in the one of the family areas. During their conversations, the captain hadn't mentioned a wife or a lover, but that didn't mean such a one did not exist, and then how to extricate himself without looking like an utter fool?

But the beer was clinking in the basket and he had come so far…

He found the right corridor and the right chamber and knocked lightly on the door, putting a polite and friendly smile on his face and hoping his friend would answer.

Instead, all his worst fears personified opened the door; a beautiful elf with long, tawny hair and huge brown eyes smiled and dropped a curtsey to him.

'Your highness! This is an honour indeed!' she said.

'Forgive the intrusion – I was looking for Captain Govon? I understand he's being released from the healer hall this day?'

'Indeed, my prince, and he has spoken much of your great help to him. But I am afraid he is not home.'

'May I then leave something for him? A token only…'

'If you wish, my prince. But my brother said he was seeking the air – you would not think, would you, that he had been in the air for a month just gone? He…'

Legolas stopped listening. Her brother?

'Forgive me? I did not quite…'

'He wanted to sit on the grass somewhere, he said.'

'Thank you; I'll see if I can find him, then, and trouble you no further.'

He found Govon soon enough; although there were three or four open, grassy areas outside the palace, Legolas headed for the one that best seemed to fit the descriptions he'd heard so often; a clear glade with a raised grassy bank which caught the sun for most of the day, close enough to the practice grounds that you could hear the drills, sometimes, which put off most of the courting couples and the families with elflings.

Govon was resting on his back with one foot drawn towards his body, his knee raised and his hands behind his head. The dark honey tones of his hair spread out like rich silk and his eyes were closed. His fine lips were drawn up into a smile of peace and Legolas found suddenly his tongue felt too big in his mouth and he didn't know what to say.

But for long enough he had been 'hey, fair elf', and Govon had been not simply Govan.

'Hey, friend Captain!' Legolas said softly from the edge of the glade.

Govan's smile widened, although he kept his eyes closed. 'Hey, fair elf!' he said.

'I have beer, if you'd care to count me as one of those friends you said you'd take your ease with,' Legolas said. He didn't want to intrude on Govon's peace, but there was something about his quiet calm that made Legolas wish to share in it, if he could.

'That sounds like a flet-dream come true!' Govon opened his eyes and sat up, his movements liquid, precise, his smile one of welcome. 'You got the basket, then. I hope it was not too much?'

'Too much for such small service as I gave, and for one alone.' Confidence growing, Legolas crossed the space between them and lowered himself to the grass. 'But not too much, if shared.'

He unstoppered a bottle of beer and passed it to Govon before opening one for himself.

'No glasses, I'm afraid.'

'Ah, it's better from the bottle out of doors.' Govan took a mouthful, his eyes closing as he savoured the brew. 'This is the good stuff! How came you by this?'

Legolas laughed. 'Ai, I told the cellarer a sob story and pointed out I hadn't been at the high table for almost two weeks and therefore at least ten bottles were my due. Did you have your midday meal yet?'

'Not yet. My sister – you met her? A dear heart, still she would trammel me in and tie me to her apron if she could, but I needed the sky more than food. I'll be glad when she marries!'

Legolas began unpacking the basket. 'Then it's fortunate that we have everything we could want here.'

'Yes. Yes, we do, do we not?' Govon's voice was pensive. 'All we could want.'

Conversation drifted like summer clouds as they ate. Govon's health, and that of his sentries, the attentions of the healers, the fairness of the day kept them busy until the food was gone and the beer was gone and they'd opened the wine, passing the bottle between them like old comrades.

'How does it feel to be back to your responsibilities?' Govon asked. There was a caution in his words that alerted Legolas, but he wasn't quite sure what Govon meant.

'Well, I doubt my father will want me out of his sight for a month,' he began, watching Govon under his lashes for some kind of clue. 'And I have some duties, it's true, but not so many.'

'I had heard…' Govon broke off, shaking his head. 'No. It's no matter. And none of my business.'

'Govon, I can't remember a time when one or other of we brothers weren't the subject of gossip!' Legolas turned to look at him. 'Friend Captain, feel free to speak.'

'There are two stories I have heard and not both can be true. But all Mirkwood is talking about the latest and if you don't know what's being said...' He sighed. 'This has been such a pleasant hour and I do not wish to mar it…'

'Is it the tale where Canadion the Brave saved me from five spiders at once?'

Govon snorted and passed Legolas the wine bottle. 'No. Who would believe that one? Although they might pretend to if Thiriston Cut-Face was listening!'

'Well, then. I do not think there is another rumour at present that would be as bad as that one.' Legolas took a pull of the wine and handed it back, trying to work out which of the many, many stories might matter so much to Govon that he hesitated to mention it. 'Is it the tale that a human woman is carrying my child?'

Govon sprayed wine everywhere and coughed and choked while Legolas took advantage of it to pat Govon on the back and laugh at him.

'Her name is Flora,' Legolas said, once Govon had recovered. 'And it's true, I'm sponsoring her child and the palace is supporting her and the unborn peredhel. But I'm not the father, I've just taken the responsibility since the one who is responsible cannot do so. And, as you say, it does at least contradict some of the other rumours.'

Govon passed the bottle back to him mutely and Legolas recorked it. Now wasn't the time to hide behind wine. Suddenly he was afraid to go on, to openly admit what had been tacitly accepted for so very long. Not because he was ashamed of his different preferences, but from fear that Govon would be shocked or horrified or even afraid.

'Besides, it is the only way I am likely to get a child, by sponsoring, since the mystery of the female form, human or elven, completely passes me by.' It came out in a rush and he did not dare look at Govon. 'I know that there are those who believe this is unnatural and wrong, and others who think it is impossible for me to have male friends without being some sort of threat to them, but…'

Before Legolas could finish, the ground began to shimmer beneath him. The trees at the edge of the glade rustled as if a wind stirred their branches. He looked around wildly as a crack sounded from above as a branch on tree just behind them gave way. Something slammed into him, knocking him away and onto his back – Govon, protecting him, holding him firmly in place as the branch crashed down just a hand's breadth from where he'd been sitting. The ground grew quiet again but still Govan lay stretched protectively over him, his face inches away from Legolas' own.

'Govon? Thank you. I… I was trying to say that…'

'Fair elf,' Govon said. 'Hold peace. I know what you're trying to say and I am neither afraid nor threatened. In fact, I'm quite glad to learn this is true.' He shifted position slightly against Legolas, holding his gaze. 'Or can you not tell?'

Legolas brought his arms around Govon and lifted his face towards him, and their lips met in the briefest of touches.

'Should we continue this elsewhere?' Legolas suggested. 'Or shall we wait and see if any come to look for us after that earth tremor?'

'Earth tremor?' Govon said. 'I thought it was just me!'


	32. Chapter 32: Of Trees and Tremors

Nestoril had left Tharmeduil with his family and excused herself, pleading business at her healer hall and promising to look in on him again after the midday meal. It had been the first time the king had seen the records of his son's insights, and he had seemed fascinated and engaged in understanding what was going on. She did hope that Tharmeduil had not used the word 'cuddle' in connexion with Prince Legolas while his father was there, though.

After making sure all was well in her halls and personally visiting the three spider-sick warriors to release them from her care, (Govon seemed as if he could be a charming companion for someone or other and she had used a few well-chosen, discreet phrases to speak highly of Legolas' care of him) she collected a few dressings from the store and went to her study to make sure there was nothing urgent needing her attention.

Everything being in order, she quickly wrote up an account of Tharmeduil's attack for the records before collecting her bow and quiver, leaving word at the desk that she was going out and exiting the palace complex at the nearest doorway.

Before long she was standing at the entrance to the grove of the fëar trees, making her reverential bow to the guardian holly trees.

Inside the calm, green space she walked from one tree to another, softly caressing the bark of each. When she came to the silver birch, she stood back after she'd touched it to look it over.

The tree stood tall, and it looked well. Nothing about it suggested sickness, but at the end of one of its branches, a few of the leaves, instead of being green and glossy and new, were already starting to curl and colour with autumnal tints.

Doubting whether it would work but wanting to try, anyway, she reached for a piece of caul silk from her belt pouch and placed it on the branch, binding it into place with a simple dressing strip. Briefly she felt foolish, and was glad there was nobody to see her practicing old sympathetic magic here. But she felt a lightness in the air around her, as if something had been freed, released, and it made her smile.

Well. One thing was certain; it would do no harm to the tree to have a bandage on it for a few days. Satisfied that there was one more image Tharmeduil could circle on his papers, she went back to her healer hall feeling obscurely comforted.

She had taken her day meal with some of the other healers and was back in her study when it happened; everything began to shudder softly and the papers on her desk shivered and trembled. The decanter and glasses on the little table near the window chinked together like musical chattering teeth. Alarmed, she took hold of her desk as if to steady it, and then, within seconds of it starting, the shaking subsided.

Nestoril left her study and hurried to the duty desk in the main entrance of the healer hall.

'Is everybody safe?' she asked.

'We're just checking now, Healer Nestoril. At least we only have a few charges at present. And it was brief, whatever it was!'

'An earth shock, I think. I was in one once, many years ago, stronger than this one. Sometimes they leave much devastation!'

An assistant duty healer appeared at the door which led to healing rooms.

'All is well; I have reassured everyone and there has been no damage.'

'Excellent news, indeed. Now, I promised I would visit Prince Tharmeduil this afternoon.'

'Oh? Has our prince been ill again?' the duty healer asked.

'A little,' Nestoril admitted. 'I have recorded the event as usual. The draft is in my study at present; I intend to update after my visit. If you need me, send to me.'

She arrived at Tharmeduil's rooms to find him in high excitement and Iauron trying to calm him.

'That was it, Nestoril!' Tharmeduil exclaimed. 'The shaking! That recurring thing on all the pages, the one I couldn't describe! You know – that first night I drew it, you thought it was mountains…'

'Yes? Let me get my notes…'

She smiled swiftly and took a seat at the table, leafing through her notebook.

'Ah, I have it, my prince! Weaknesses, you said. And the spiders… I have here that they were fleeing something trapped in the earth?'

'Yes…' Tharmeduil frowned. 'But that's not it. They knew… That tremor we felt, they knew it was coming, somehow. They weren't aware of the trapped things. Does that make sense?'

'I know very little of the behaviour of the earth beneath us, or about the ways of spiders,' Nestoril admitted.

'We need my brother,' Tharmeduil announced. 'Legolas was there when the spiders fled…'

'This is true,' Iauron said. 'I'll go and get him.'

'Don't just barge in, will you?' Tharmeduil said.

'What?'

Tharmeduil tapped a corner of one of the sheets of parchment. This one showed, not Legolas 'cuddling' Govon, but Govon apparently returning the favour.

'Either knock and wait, or be prepared to apologise for intruding.'

Iauron shook his head as he made his way to his brother's rooms. More than half-convinced Tharmeduil had been joking, he was about to grab the door handle when he heard laughter from inside – two voices, his brother's and another, deeper in tone.

Deeper? He sighed and knocked and the voices fell abruptly silent.

It was a moment or two before the door opened, just a little, Legolas in the doorway as if screening the room behind. His face was slightly flushed, his eyes bright, and one of his braids was coming undone. He'd cast aside his tunic and was just wearing a loose shirt over his leggings.

'Iauron! What is it?'

'Tharmeduil was asking for you – do not worry, he's fine – it's just something on those drawings of his. But you're busy?'

'Yes, I have a guest. You go ahead, I'll speak with my friend and follow you shortly.'

Iauron didn't move. Instead, he grinned. 'Are you not going to introduce me?'

'No.' Legolas managed to smile in return and shut the door in his face.

Inside his rooms, he grimaced and shrugged. 'Ai! Govon, my brother wants me! Tharmeduil has been ill and…'

'So that tale is true? I didn't like to ask…'

'Yes. I don't know much, though, with being away. So, I am most sorry, but I have to leave.' Legolas began to tidy himself, neatening his shirt and pulling on a fresh tunic. 'If you would like to wait here for me…?'

'I would.' Govon got to his feet with a small smile and reached out to Legolas' hair, nimbly re-plaiting the loose braid and locating the clasp to close over it. 'But my sister will be worried after the tremor. Would you care to take your night meal with us later? I'm sure she'd like the company and…'

Legolas hesitated. Yes, he wanted to spend more time with Govon and he cursed Iauron for intruding… but had the moment have passed?

And yet the way Govon stroked his braid into place made it feel like the moment was still, really, ahead of them.

'I could walk you back, after?' Govon added. 'If you wished?'

'Thank you, Govon. If I won't be an intrusion…'

'Ai, Merlinith would love it! My only fear is she might find a nice lady to join us to keep me entertained… She ought to know better, but there you are.'

'Then I accept with pleasure. Would you walk out with me? If Iauron is there, I'll introduce you.'

But Iauron had retreated, and was lurking around the corner in the passageway, which was perhaps just as well because it meant he didn't have to witness his brother being hugged and thoroughly kissed by Govon.

'What are you grinning about, Legolas?' Iauron demanded when his brother came into sight at last.

'Nothing you'd want to know. Come on, then.'

Legolas was still smiling inside when he joined Tharmeduil and Nestoril at the table.

'What can I help you with, Tharmeduil?'

'You can tell me all about your spiders. And what happened in the forest? Did it all go quiet?'

'Well, when I was there, they came through in a rush. But, yes, there was too much silence around… as we went on, too, from flet to flet, there was the same tale. Although if you really want to know, you should speak to one who was there before the spiders came through.'

Tharmeduil grinned. 'And you wouldn't happen to know such a one by any chance, would you?'


	33. Chapter 33: Interlude Inside the Earth

WIDS 33 Interlude Inside the Earth

It was several days before the dragonets used up the reserves of their egg sacs and began to feel hunger. The firstborn, the grey wyrm, discovered the food source first; the bones of their dam, old and dry, but still with some nutritional value lurking in the remains of the marrow, and dragons are good at not dying, given the chance. So the grey one tugged at the last bits of hide and crunched at the bones and snarled when its siblings joined in.

For weeks they licked and gnawed and worked the last of the goodness from the carcass and then looked around at each other and themselves. The growls had become communications, words, half-phrases: 'Mine!' Or: 'Drop, thief!' and they began to have names for themselves. The grey wyrm called himself Angrisla, Terror and was first to get between the squabblers and take whatever they were arguing about for himself. And so the other dragonets learned to share, so their brother didn't steal from them what little there was. Daedor and Doldor the two black ones called themselves, Shadow and Night. Daedor had wings, but Doldor none. Caranor, Carenoril, Coloneth were the three red dragonets, and they began to hiss and talk together and wonder where they were and was this all there was?

And they grew.

By the time Imladris shook with the earth tremor that spread across hundreds of miles to shudder the land beneath Legolas and Govon and to rattle the glasses on Nestoril's table, the dragonets were as big as sheep.

But not nearly as well-mannered and far more curious.

'What?' Daedor hissed as the earth danced and rumbled, far more strongly here than in Imladris hundreds of miles away, and 'Who?' Coloneth whimpered and 'Where?' Angrisla asked, looking up to the opening in the cave roof above. 'How to?'

'Why?' Carenoril asked. She was one of the very few who would ever question Angrisla; she had observed her wingless sibling fall over him when newly hatched, and had seen he did nothing but grumble, and so she ignored his hissing and snarling and was less impressed than the others.

'Out. Eat gone. More eat need.'

More eat need. There it was: they needed to eat. If the dragonets couldn't escape their lair, they would starve.

The shaking continued, and from somewhere overhead, a chunk of rock broke free and fell down. Alarmed, Angrisla and Carenoril jumped back, and their wings flared and fluttered and carried them up a few feet. But Coloneth was beneath the rock as it fell, and she, being unwinged, failed to get out of the way in time. She squealed when it pinned her, once, piteously, and then she fell still as the dark blood leaked from her and the six dragonets became five.

Angrisla went over and began to lick and lap at the liquid. Soon, too hungry not to, Carenoril joined him and presently the other three surviving dragonets came to scavenge.

Hunger sated, Carenoril drew close to Angrisla where he lay coiled lazily. She dropped her snout over his back and he grumbled at her until she curled her own body around his. But she had decided he was where survival lay, and she would follow him to it at whatever cost.

Sleeping and waking to chew the last of the bones of their sibling and sleeping again. Carenoril remembered the flutter of her wings, and she began to play with them, dancing and jumping and trying out lots of different movements until she learned the sequence that would take her up into the air for short bouts of time. But it was tiring, learning to fly. Angrisla, who had spent hours watching her from his slitted yellow eyes, learned a lot from simple observation so that when he, too, tried his wings, he had some success more quickly. But the wings of a wyrm are not like the wings of a drake; the wyrm was an older form and his body longer, more snake-like in form and the wings smaller, their proportions different from those of the drake. Carenoril's wings were larger and well-developed, since the drake-form was more evolved and adapted.

Daedor joined the dance, and soon he had flight, too, and the three, grey and red and black, circled and played in the air, and then gathered together away from the two wingless ones and held a short, sibilant conversation.

And Dodor and Caranor drew together, and began to be afraid.

'More need eat. Eat gone. We up,' Angrisla said. 'They no up. No fly things.'

'We up, we find eat?' Carenoril asked.

'How say? Must go to see. Need eat,' Angrisla said.

'Dodor not go up?' Daedor said, for he had spent a lot of time with his brother. 'What for Dodor? We bring eat?'

'No bring eat,' Angrisla said. 'Dodor, Caranor no up, no eat. Stay and feel emptiness.'

'Bad feel, when no eat. Like big bones, no eat, no dance.'

An idea began to form in Angrisla's scaly head.

'Bad feel long time. Then like Coloneth, never move more.' His black forked tongue swished out around his snout. 'Long pain before last squeak. Kindness to end. Waste of good meat, else.'

'Dodor go,' Carenoril said. Dodor being a black dragon, she didn't feel the same kinship she did for Caranor. 'Wait, see Caronor climb up?'

'No.' Daedor rose up on his haunches. 'Dodor climb; Caranor go.'

'Caranor mine!' Carenoril hissed.

'Dodor mine!'

Angrisla growled and hissed at them, and they fell quiet. He turned his wicked grey head and narrowed his yellow eyes at Dodor and Caranor.

'Miiiiine…' he said slowly, and pounced at the two wingless dragonets. Both cowered and hissed and backed away, but as Caranor hissed, she filled her body up with air and growled and something changed, ignited within her and her red body glowed brightly and a spurt of flame shot out.

Angrisla took a half-step back, alarmed. Dodor cowered away from his wingless sibling, and separated himself nicely so that Angrisla leapt, wings flaring, and landed on top of the black dragonet, snapping with jaws made strong on the bones of his dam, and broke his neck, dragging the suddenly limp form away from Caranor.

Daedor whimpered and huddled in to Carenoril, but she flicked him contemptuously with her tail and sauntered over to join Angrisla. Presently, greatly daring, Caranor joined them at the carcass.

And then there were four, but Daedor did not eat his sibling black.

Instead, he shivered and curled himself up in a tight coil, and pretended not to be afraid.


	34. Chapter 34: A Working Audience

WIDS Chapter 34: A Working Audience

There were three elves waiting outside the sparring chamber when King Thranduil arrived, attended by two guards and his advisor. Arveldir glanced at the telling-of-hours lamp at the junction of the corridors and saw that the three who had previously been summoned must have been waiting for some half of an hour at least and it was still very early.

Still, it was not the king's duty to apologise for tardiness, nor would Arveldir do so on his behalf. Instead, he opened the door to the chamber and bowed his king inside before turning back to them.

'Good, you are all here. I trust you have made the most of the time to discuss matters between yourselves?'

Commander Bregon was the only one prepared to speak.

'Indeed, Master Arveldir, we all know each other from our duties in the barracks.' He nodded towards the big, powerful elf glowering in the corner. 'Thiriston here is my second. We've not long returned from patrol…'

'I know. This is one reason you were sent for. You brought your choice of weapons with you, as suggested?'

'What is this? Does his most high majesty not have enough willing sparring partners already?' Thiriston snarled, his anger at the early hour evident from his tone.

'Oh, his majesty has access to the very best.' Arveldir looked Thiriston over calmly. 'But, still he requested you by name, Cut-Face. And so, I will enquire of our king's pleasure.'

The third elf waited until Arveldir had gone before giving Thiriston a withering look, although it was Bregon he addressed.

'Do you take such subordination from your second regularly, Commander?'

'Never, when it's addressed to my command, Captain Rawon. And were it not for the fact that my second has not long returned from a hard tour of duty, he'd not get away with it to the king's advisor, either.' He permitted himself a small smile. 'Although it appears Master Arveldir can fight his own battles.'

Inside the sparring chamber Arveldir closed the door and walked towards Thranduil.

'My king, are you sure about this?'

'Mind your manners, Arveldir, or I might give you a turn, too. What would your weapon be, I wonder?'

'I'm rather good with the pen, my king. And a swift verbal comeback.'

'Sarcasm at dawn it shall be, then, when I next fail of sparring partners. No; I have discovered that I rather enjoyed combining my weapons practice with conversation. Take this.'

The king shrugged out of his red and gold coat and Arveldir folded it over his arm. The high collared silver-threaded tunic followed suit, leaving him in his shirt, leggings, and boots.

'I'll have the Commander first… Bregon. Then his second, and Rawon last.

'Yes, my king.' Rawon wouldn't like that! He was ranking captain, in charge of the barracks and all the warriors and captains therein, and to be shown in third could be considered an insult, especially as the lowest rank had been given second spot in the running order. 'It shall be as you wish.'

'Wait a moment – take this, too.' Thranduil pulled the shirt off over his head and added it to the pile of clothing in Arveldir's arms, revealing his sleek, strong torso. 'Set those down on the trunk by the door. Then send in Bregon.'

Thranduil unsheathed his twin swords and began slow sweeps with the weapons, the blades flashing and glittering in the lamplight of the sparring room. He turned after them, twisted back, using the dance of the double weapons to warm up his body and prepare his muscles for more strenuous activity.

The fact of the matter was that sparring with Iauron had given him an idea. He had felt much clearer in his mind, thinking and talking while he mock-fought, as if the fact that there were edged weapons whirling about him gave his thoughts a sharpness, a quickness that he hadn't expected. Perhaps the battle-stance prepared him mentally and made him more alert, and that spilled over into improved performance of mind as well as body.

He had decided to try it out again, this time with some of his warriors. Oh, it was not unknown for him to turn up, unannounced, at their training ground to join in the practice with short-staff or sword, but this was the first time he'd invited specific individuals to spar with him.

He heard the door close through the swish of his blades and ended his movement to finish facing the door, one sword around and down his back, the other crossing his body. He held the stance, then drew the swords back and stood tall. He was barely even breathing hard, but he could feel the perspiration bead on his bare chest and across his shoulders.

'Commander Bregon, well met! Do you have a weapon of choice?'

Bregon bowed and smiled.

'Since you demonstrate the old style so well, my king, and I have few chances to practice it, may I go against your twin blades with double-lhaing?'

'Of course you may. We will talk as we work, for that is my main purpose.' Thranduil gestured towards the weapons racks. 'Please; choose your lhaing.'

'Master Arveldir told us to bring our weapons, if you'll permit?'

The king inclined his head and took up his starting position, both sword points touching the sand of the practice circle floor. Bregon drew his own weapons and stood opposite his king. Both made the ceremonial bow and swept the swords into action.

The duet was graceful, stately, each move from a preordained set of practice training, beginning with the simple and becoming faster and increasingly complex. Right blade on opponent's left, left on right, cross wrists and circle… they fell into the dance, feeling each other's pace and strength, swords singing and whirling until it became just a pattern. Bregon was shorter and had the lesser reach; in any real fight, Thranduil would have disarmed him in a moment, but the twin-sword form was a ritualistic demonstration, and demanded to be performed to the utmost end.

'And so, Commander, after an attack from some scores of arachnids, including some guard spiders, you sent Prince Legolas through the forest from flet to flet…'

The four blades locked, interwoven. It was almost impossible to tell which sword belonged to whom. Push and break and a slither of metal as the blades disengaged.

'I did indeed, my king. He served well, I am sure you would have been proud.'

'He was four days late home, in the wake of injured warriors and with no news reaching me for a week.'

'True, my king. So it was for the families of all those kept on the flets through sickness.'

The swords shimmered apart and the session moved into a different phase. Bregon took a chance; there was a move he had always admired but not always pulled off. He tried it now, spinning away and dropping one sword behind him while raising the other, also at his back. Both lhaing were now facing the king, although Bregon's back was turned to him. A spin and unwinding the blades brought them up to cross in front of him as he ended facing the king, Thranduil's twin blades meeting his.

'An excellent flurry, Bregon!' The king smiled. 'I do not know what happened, but my son returned to me happier than I have seen him for some time. Perhaps having spiders bleed and warriors vomit on him has done him good.'

'Indeed, my king, had I known… ai, but it is how it is, my king. One never knows.'

'Yet there are things you know.' Thranduil pulled out of the riposte and swirled the blades again, Bregon matching them, flash and clash. 'How was the forest? What was different? Only the arachnids?'

'No, my king, not only. There was great silence, some way in.' Bregon stepped away from the close combat, making a slow spin with one blade extended at shoulder height, the other across his body to take up another movement when the circle was done. 'All was hushed. We thought, at first, that the spiders had caused the silence, but the trees tell another tale, one of holding tightly to the earth lest it moved.'

'But that was how long before yesterday's tremor?'

'Ten days.' Bregon brought the twin lhaing into the crossed finish position before his body and bowed between the hilts towards his king. 'There are old tales, told amongst the Sylvan historians, how the creatures in the forest will flee away before the earth stirs. But I have never witnessed it, unless this was such.'

Thranduil made his own circle with the blades, faster than Bregon's had been, and finished with crossed blades and a smile.

'Thank you, Bregon. A most entertaining and informative practice.'

'My king, you honour me.'

'And… yes. Had you sent my son home sooner, I would have had less cause for pride in him. So both he and I should thank you for that.' Thranduil swung the two swords casually and slid both into their scabbards. 'Please send in that villain Thiriston now. I do hope he is properly annoyed at the earliness of the hour.'


	35. Chapter 35: Awakening

Legolas stirred, stretched, closing his eyes to fully enjoy the sensation of his own bed, his own pillows. He ached gently; his throat, his body… but it was a pleasant, joyous ache. Memory claimed him, and he found his mouth lifting as he remembered…

An interesting evening in company with Govon and his sister Merlinith and her friend, invited to make it even numbers for supper. Good, simple food and, once the ladies got over their awe and their propensity to try to flirt, pleasant conversation.

And Govon, smiling across at him, sharing jokes, referencing the earth tremor.

Legolas sighed and turned over in the bed. He remembered companionship, warmth.

But he was less warm now, and alone in the bed.

His heart fell even as he realised that, maybe, it might be for the best. The night had been amazing, better than he could ever have imagined or anticipated, and he had fallen asleep with Govon's head on his shoulder, Govon's arm across his chest, and his fëa had been at peace for the first time in decades.

What, had Govon gone? Why? Was he simply being discreet? Or could it be he had realised it had been a moment only and that any more would be the start of a horrible, terrible mistake?

The thought made his breath catch in his throat and he sat up hastily, denying the sorrow that threatened to rise up in him as the covers tumbled down to gather in his lap.

'You're awake, fair elf.' Govon's voice was lazy and slow, and at the sound Legolas looked across.

'Friend captain!' he exclaimed, unable to keep the delight from his voice. 'You're still here!'

'After what passed between us, it would have been impolite, at the very least, to leave unremarked.'

Govon smiled and turned his head to look out of the window towards the early, bright morning. His braids had come undone – indeed, Legolas remembered releasing them, strand by strand, and now there were stripes, ripples in Govon's hair as reminders of where the braids had been confined.

'What are you doing over there?' Legolas asked.

'I've been watching you sleep. And wondering how long before you would wake. One of us was snoring.'

Govon smiled as he got to his feet and crossed the room. His hair fell around his bare shoulders, covered the tops of his arms, and Legolas filled his eyes with the sight of Govon's fine form. The warrior was a little on the thin side, perhaps, the result of his recent illness and diet of lembas and water. A scar ran in an arc over his left hip, the result of a skirmish with orcs, Legolas remembered. The captain had other scars, and he had told the story of each of them while Legolas kissed and tongued every mark of war on his lover's body.

Govon sat down on the bed and reached a hand out to finger Legolas' silver blond hair.

'And I'm over here now.'

Legolas turned his face towards Govon's hand, kissing his wrist and the base of his thumb softly as he slid over, making room beside him in the bed and lifting the covers.

'One thing,' Legolas said, drawing Govon close against him, 'and I have not said, but I should… I am not looking for a casual arrangement… If this is not what… that is, I know it can be that those who have to rely on others for care might find themselves… only later to realise…'

'Fair elf,' Govon said, 'there are better things to do with your lovely mouth than talk with it.'

He lifted gentle fingers to caress the tip of Legolas' ear, to drift down and brush the hair back from his face, and reached to kiss him, savouring the slow slide of tongues, the sudden rise beneath his hips as the fair elf's body responded, the pulse and kick of his own desire surging. He fell into the moment, the swell of sensation and pleasure, aware of more than an echo of the same delight in the body beneath his.

But then strong, sure arms took him, and rolled him, so that he was on his back and Legolas pinning him down, gently teasing free of the kiss to smile down.

'Friend captain, your eyes are amazing,' he said. 'The true hazel, that mingling of brown and green that is so rare!'

Govon smiled in response, flexing his hips to bring himself into closer contact. 'And you're talking again, melleth.'

Legolas ducked his head to hide his delight at the endearment. How long had it been since anyone had called him that? Ai, so many years, not since… But it had never sounded so well, not even then.

Once more Govon pushed with his hips, trying to shift Legolas onto his back.

'What are you thinking, Govon?' Legolas said in teasing voice. 'You've been ill, you need to rest…'

'You didn't say that last night.'

'Ai, so now I have guilt for exhausting you. Be still, let me make amends.'

'And yet your mouth, it is still talking!'

Legolas smiled and wriggled slightly further down in the bed, causing Govon to whimper in response to the delicious friction. There was a mark on Govon's right shoulder, a small scar just below his collar bone, and Legolas found it with gentle lips and circling tongue.

'I missed this first time… how came you by it?' he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

'A flint-tipped arrow in the dark. It passed straight through, and my comrades felled the orc that gave it me.'

'And you are well of it, now?'

Govon sighed and relaxed into the heat of Legolas' mouth, the slide of pale hair across his body. 'It feels very well now.'

The soft suction of the mouth on his skin moved, slid across to his sternum and down, slowly down to his stomach, lingering to work his navel, Legolas' tongue exploring lightly before trailing towards the long, curved scar over Govon's left hip, pushing Govon's legs apart so that his body rested between them, his heart beating against the hardness of Govon's arousal. He found the furthest edge of the scar, beginning just behind the bone so he had to tuck his head down to reach and his voice was a muffled query.

'Tell me again the tale of this one?'

Govon swallowed and his head tipped back.

'Sword… one of those big orcs, warg-mounted. Arrow through the eye of the warg, it pitched the orc off. He stood to fight me… while busy with him, a second came up. The first I stabbed through the throat…' He broke off as Legolas licked the long length of the scar over and around to where it finished at his groin, inches away…

'Go on?' Legolas' voice vibrated against his skin.

'Second went to skewer me, but I turned, and so was merely cut, not cut in two. I beheaded him.'

'And how is this now?'

'It is… getting better. Perhaps it needs a little more… Ai!' he gasped and tried to prevent his back from arcing, and he felt Legolas smile against his scar.

'I think there is more of this scar, hidden here,' Legolas whispered, and continued the movements of his mouth until he came to something that was most certainly not scarred, but he gave it the same attention anyway, while Govon groaned and clutched the sheets and grabbed at his lover's hair to steady him until the intensity of teeth and tongue were too much and he cried out and spasmed and fell out of pleasure and into blissful completion.

Legolas gave him a moment before breaking free and working his way up to push Govon onto his side, lying against him.

'You'll be wanting the oil, then?' Govon asked languidly, grinding his buttocks back against Legolas.

'Please.' He struggled not to gasp the word. 'It's on your side.'

The captain reached out for the little flask, for the first time really noticing it as he prepared to pass it across.

'Blade honing oil? This is what we used last night? _Honing oil? _What kind of way is that to treat your lover?'

'Well, I have no other – I had not expected… besides, it served its purpose, I seem to recall…'

Govon laughed, and passed the flask to Legolas. 'Ah, well at least we'll both still smell like warriors, after.'

Translation:

Melleth: love


	36. Chapter 36: Knife Work

Thranduil wiped his shoulders with a towel and glanced over his shoulder towards the door as Bregon's second-in-command entered.

'Ah, Thiriston. Your choice of weapon is axe, I believe?' He paused to look the fellow over… he was unusually big, huge even, wide of shoulder and almost hulking in stance. 'I have to say, you're rather tall for a dwarf!'

Thiriston bared his teeth in what might have been meant to be a grin.

'My king is most amusing.'

'Am I? It was not intentional, I assure you. Well. What is your weapon of choice? Long knives? Empty-hand? Quarterstaff? Lhang or lhaing?'

'I would feel uncomfortable fighting my king, sire. I might find myself charged with treason.'

'Very well, then. Target practice, throwing knives if you fear to face me in combat. What say you?'

'I do not… Very well, my king. Since there is no room here for archery, knives will do.'

There were two targets at the far end of the practice chamber and Thranduil went over to the weapons racks to select half a dozen bone-handled throwing knives.

Almost casually Thranduil tumbled a knife through the air to land in the inner red of the target. 'Of course, I have the advantage of knowing these knives and this target.'

'I learn swiftly,' Thiriston said, grabbing a random selection of knives and coming to stand next to the king. His first practice throw tumbled a half-turn too far, and rebounded off the target, causing him to swear.

'Take another practice throw,' Thranduil said. 'We have the time.'

The king's condescension annoyed Thiriston Cut-Face and he bit back the growl that threatened to start in his throat. He readjusted technique and the next knife hammered home to the outer yellow.

'Excellent,' Thranduil said, his voice almost a purr. 'Five knives each. By turns, then, or at will?'

'As my king pleases.'

'At will, then.' Thranduil tugged his practice blade out of the target and retreated behind the throwing line. He arced a knife through the air where it lodged in the inner red, waiting for Thiriston to be ready to launch before addressing him. 'You know something of queens, largely due to your partner, I understand?'

The knife flew wildly, just clipping the edge of the target and hanging in.

'Your meaning, my king?' Thiriston hissed.

'The arachnids. The egg-bearing queens; you know a lot about them? The one you work with, you have a partnership where you distract the queen and he harvests the silk so prized by our healers?'

'I see your meaning.' Thiriston launched another knife which this time hit the inner red. On the next target along, Thranduil's knife hit the bull. 'Yes, we hunt the cauls…'

'It must be a great source of comfort that you can share work as well as whatever else it is you do.'

Thiriston bridled, and for a moment imagined the knife in his hand heading straight for the king's heart, if he even had one.

'My king…?'

'To have a specialist knowledge to set you aside from the rest.' Thranduil's knife hit home in the bull. 'There is not necessarily anything wrong with knowing your own worth.'

Thiriston prepared another knife and hurled it wildly at the target. It hit the outer red, and the whole target rocked dangerously from the force of the throw.

'It is about Canadion I wish to speak.' Thranduil's fourth knife tumbled easily into the inner red once more.

'My king?' The repeated words were icy as Thiriston replied. But at least this time he'd held his throw, and managed to make the inner yellow.

'Yes.' The king's last blade tumbled gracefully into the bull. Thiriston managed the outer red again.

Thranduil stood back and looked at the wreckage of the targets. His own was fairly tidy; he'd tried not to be too good and so his five blades, while clustered, where spread modestly through the bull and the inner red.

Thiriston had fared otherwise. Had he been throwing at an enemy, only two of his blades would have done more than slightly alarm the opponent.

The king hid his smile as he pulled Cut-Face's blades from the target, returning to the warrior's side. He'd been enjoying himself hugely, baiting the hulking Thiriston, provoking, pushing at his temper and had not been disappointed; Thiriston had the heart of a dragon, but had managed to keep his anger in check.

Thus far.

'Perhaps you were unfortunate in your choice of knives, Thiriston?' he suggested and lobbed the first blade at the target. Inner red. 'Now, while I have you here, I wanted to tell you I will be seeking an interview with your pretty-faced Canadion.' The second blade hummed the air, came to rest a hair's breadth from the first. 'He is not a warrior, though, and so he will be brought to the throne room.'

'My king tells me this because…?'

'Oh, not to ask permission.' The third blade made the bull. 'But don't fear; I have no intention of castigating him for spreading tales that his cousin was afraid and Canadion made the kills properly attributable elsewhere…' A second bull from blade four. 'Nor is it to tell him to keep his unnatural proclivities away from my family.' The fifth blade slipped between the inner reds and the bull. 'Ah. Perhaps it was not the blades after all, perhaps you may have been distracted by something? In short, I wish to question your bed-friend about his kin. That is all.'

'I will tell him, my king,' Thiriston said, his fury at being outmatched with the knives only further whetted by the king's casual acknowledgement of the relationship. He ought, perhaps have been relieved that Canadion's talking hadn't got him into trouble, but it was difficult under the constant needling.

'Indeed, I doubt you will be able to, since by now he is probably already kicking his heels outside my throne room. And the longer I delay here with you, the longer he will wait.'

It wasn't quite a dismissal, so Thiriston bowed.

'Perhaps your majesty would be so gracious as to offer me a rematch? The short bow, outside?'

'Oh, I do not think so!' Thranduil laughed. 'With the short bow, I cannot hit a cow at five paces; I do not like how the strings tug at my fingers and so I never practiced. Do not let me keep you from your day, Thiriston! And send Rawon in!'

Thranduil had cooled off a little now, and shrugged his way back into his shirt, replacing the knives in their rack as Over-Captain Rawon entered.

'My king requested my attendance?'

'Indeed, Captain. An interesting fellow that Thiriston, is he not? The captains despise him, the warriors fear him, and yet he's earned the faithfulness of the tawdriest little slut in all of Mirkwood and made him behave himself for the last ten years or more. I pushed him to the limits of his temper and he did not offend me. What's more, his commander defends him.'

'He does, sire. Even to me.'

'Do you have a weapon of choice, Rawon?'

'Single lhang, if my king permits. I didn't bring my own, I have it with the armourer being reground.'

'Very well.' The king unstrapped his double scabbards and set them to one side, choosing a lhang from the rack and trying the air with it while Rawon selected one for himself. 'I sent for you last since I wanted to gather what information I could from Bregon and Cut-Face first. And now I will tell you what I want, you will tell me it is impossible, and we will eventually come to an arrangement.'

Thranduil moved to the edge of the practice circle, presented his shoulder towards Rawon in classic stance and touched the tip of the lhang down, waiting for the captain to join him.

'My king?' Rawon mirrored Thranduil's stance and made the same touch. 'What do you need?'

Thranduil lifted the lhang and advanced, Rawon met the blade and the dance of steel began.

'I need a large patrol to go out to ensure a clear route to the Great River. It needs to be free of arachnids and the forest needs preparation. Scope out campsites, assuming a large party of dignitaries who are not used to walking more than three miles in one go or riding for more than half a day without the need for embrocation.'

The lhaing clashed and met and parted.

'This can be done, sire.'

'They need to leave within two days. And at the same time, another large party needs to follow the trail of the arachnid migration. Bregon did well, destroying many spiders, eggs and queens, which should make next year easier, but I need to know where the survivors are, what they are doing, and at all costs they must be prevented from returning to their own territory.'

'But, my king…!'

Thranduil sighed and turned in an elegant spin to flick the tip of Rawon's lhang so that he was almost disarmed.

'That is to say, my king, I understand the need. If the arachnids have willingly left the territory…' Rawon twisted and attempted to get under Thranduil's guard; it looked as if he might succeed but at the last minute the king's supple wrist twisted his blade around and under Rawon's guard. '…then it would be folly to allow them back in. Very well. I will see what may be done.'

'And double the guard on the flets.'

'Double? There's hardly room for three to a flet as it is!'

'Then have them install double levels as they go. This last is not negotiable, Rawon.' With an easy circle, the king's lhang pushed Rawon's blade to the ground and he stepped away and bowed to the captain. 'Thank you. Most entertaining. See what you can come up with and report to me tomorrow… perhaps in my study, the hour after breakfast.'

'Thank you, my king.'

'Send my advisor in, will you?'


	37. Chapter 37: Hints

'We should make an arrangement,' Govon murmured into Legolas' ear. 'You bring the wine, and the beer, and I'll provide the oil in future.'

In future? Legolas found a smile beginning deep inside his fëa.

'Very well. I prefer strong fragrances if they are to be close to me. Florals are all very well, but not on my skin.'

'Not even lavender?'

'Lavender is for spider burns. Honing oil is infinitely preferable to lavender.'

Govon laughed. 'Very well; no floral scents.' He stretched and began to disentangle himself from the bedding, but then sighed and relaxed back against Legolas instead. 'I should go. I told Merlinith not to wait up for me, that I would be home late… if I hasten, I may be able to slip in before she rises, and pretend I have not been out quite all night… it is only that she will assume I have been with the fair Gwilwilithil – what kind of a naneth names their daughter that? And I would not have her friend embarrassed by Merlinith thinking I have been all night with her.'

'Well, if I were to come back with you, then Merlinith will not ask her lovely butterfly friend how much time she spent in your company, will she?'

'True… but that will be quite a big hint to drop as to where I have spent the night and are you sure you wish her to know?' Govon's smile was challenging, and Legolas felt more hung on the question than just Merlinith's finding out where Govon had been.

And he realised something, and so was able to speak with utter sincerity.

'Melleth-nin, I do not care if everybody knows!'

Govon laughed. 'I'm sure you don't mean that! Not when you think about it… your father, your brothers….'

'Well, I am sure my father and my brothers would not be surprised. But when you put it like that… maybe not all the palace just yet. But for the first time, I do not feel I need to hide what I am.' As he said it, he felt as if something finally relaxed inside himself. 'For too long I have walked as if I needed to apologise. Now I find I do not.'

He rolled across Govon and slid out of bed. 'The bathing room calls me. The pool is big enough for us both, if you wish.'

'I'll be there in a moment.' Govon sat up and stretched, feeling the tenderness left by teeth and overuse and exertion, feeling the lightness brought by completion and affection. What would he say, his fair elf, if he knew how it had been for Govon on the flet? How he had always known when Legolas had been near, however deep in the poison he'd sunk? The prince might laugh, dismiss it. But there had been something in Legolas' declaration, his assertion that he wanted more than simply a casual bedfellow that made Govon think otherwise.

Not yet. He couldn't speak of it yet.

He padded to the door of the bathing room. Legolas was standing in the pool, waist-deep in water from the hot springs that ran under the palace cave complex. He was scooping water in his hands to trickle it over his pale skin, the droplets glistening like pearls in the pale morning light coming through the clear crystal skylight in the roof above. His body was strong and lithe and the muscles were defined and perfect, and Govon felt briefly ashamed of his own presently-scrawny condition.

Legolas turned and smiled at him, dropping down into the water, and Govon forgot about his self-consciousness.

'The temperature is perfect,' Legolas said. 'Just a little warmer than the skin. Come, join me? If I'm coming home with you, you don't have to hurry quite so much, do you?'

Govon descended the steps into the pool, marvelling at the warmth and the spaciousness. Legolas' chambers had seemed modest, furnished plainly considering his status, but the pool was luxurious, almost as big as the prince's sleeping room.

A prince and a captain. Could it, would it work?

The only way to find out was to try.

'Ai, after five weeks on a flet, this is bliss indeed!' Govon said, relaxing into the water. 'At home, we share a pool half this size with three other families, and Merlinith thinks it the height of luxury.'

'It is the one thing I have always enjoyed, the privacy of my own bathing pool.' Legolas smiled, his face transforming. 'But sharing is better, I think.'

It was tempting to linger in the warm water, to continue the gradual exploration and discovery of each other, but time was passing and while it was wonderful to wash Govon's hair and to feel the captain's hands in his own scalp, Legolas was aware of the demands of the day and Tharmeduil's question of the day before.

'What does your day hold, Govon?' he asked, reaching for a towel to pass to his lover before grabbing one for himself and leaving the pool.

'Calming my sister… sourcing a decent body oil… apart from that, my time is yours, if you like.'

Legolas smiled as he took a smaller towel and began to dry Govon's hair for him.

'Well… and if this is not something you want to do, then feel free to say… my brother Tharmeduil wishes to speak with one who was on the flet before the spiders migrated through… it would be a way for you to meet him under informal circumstances.'

'I thought he was ill?'

'Yes… but not sick. It is difficult to explain… if you would like to meet him you will learn more. But if you would prefer not to, there are others I could ask, although it would not be the same…'

'He would know, about us.'

Legolas gave a one-sided smile. 'Ai, I think he already knows! Do you mind? But, Tharmeduil understands I am not like him and as well as my brother, he is a good friend. And your sister, she will know, soon, so it seems fitting. '

'Thank you.' Govon reached out to lightly touch Legolas' shoulder. 'That you want me known as your lover honours me. I will come.'

Legolas turned to place his hands on Govon's hips, smiling up at him. 'That's settled, then. So, we had better dress, I suppose. Help yourself to anything you need.'

Really? But there was nothing he needed urgently; he could change at home soon enough, although he did appropriate a couple of plain hair clasps from the bowl on top of the dresser in the prince's sleeping chamber.

Legolas noticed, smiling. 'Swap?' he suggested, holding his hand out for Govon's own clasps. The captain grinned and dropped his own clasps into Legolas' palm. It felt like a commitment, albeit a small one, made bigger by the intimacy of braiding for each other and fixing the exchanged clasps in place.

It felt too soon to be leaving the sanctuary of his rooms. Legolas could have stayed with Govon there for day, weeks. Hours would have done… but the day beckoned and he followed Govon along the corridors to the captain's family chambers.

Merlinith appeared at the doorway to the kitchen area when Govon opened the door and invited Legolas in.

'Good morning! I didn't hear you rise or leave for the baths, Govon. I see you've visited them together; you'll take breakfast with my brother and me, my prince?'

Legolas' smile was rueful. 'Alas, I am almost promised to break my fast with my brothers this morning. Govon, thank you for sharing your baths with me…' He turned to walk back towards the door. 'I will call for you later, yes?'

'In person?' Govon raised an eyebrow. 'Surely one of the royal princes has people to do that for him?'

'Yes. I suppose.' He lowered his voice. 'What is it with your sister? We arrive back, both with damp hair, and all she does is assume we were in the public bath together like any males might?'

Govon rolled his eyes. 'Ai, perhaps she only sees what she wants to see, melleth!'

Legolas smiled at the endearment. 'I would not want to distress her, but the whole point of my walking back with you…'

Govon reached out to take his hand for a moment. 'I'll wait for your messenger, fair elf!'

Legolas smiled again, reluctant to leave. 'You'll be brought straight to my brother's rooms; they are not so far from mine that you won't recognise the way.'

Merlinith's voice floated down the corridor. 'Govon? The food is ready! Oh, and Gwilwilithil said she might join us at lunch…'

Govon rolled his eyes. 'Ai, Valar! I will go and tell Merlinith I shall be out!' he said.


	38. Chapter 38: Hunger

Carenoril lifted her head from Angrisla's rump with a start. The last echoes of a piteous squeak was reverberating around the dark chamber and from somewhere was a growl and a rending, tearing sound, the unmistakeable scent of blood.

'Caranor?' she asked, to have nothing reply. 'Caranor, where?'

But there was no reply; the four had become three.

Beneath her, Angrisla grumbled awake, smelling the aroma, lifting his own head.

'Caranor!' Carenoril jumped up and flapped and fluttered over towards the sounds. She huffed and breathed and suddenly her red body glowed orange inside and a spurt of bright flame from her nostrils revealed Daedor feasting on the body of her sibling. He hissed and snarled and filled himself up, spitting his own fire back.

Angrisla looked at the brightness of the other two dragonets' fire-filled bodies, and tried to hiss and puff his own flame, but all that happened was a shot of dank air that made the other two cough.

He pretended it wasn't him and watched the squabble, trying to think it through… Daedor had made Caranor dead. Daedor now eat Carnanor. All need eat. Carenoril sad, not eat Caranor. Would eat Daedor. If knew no hot-bright in Angrisla…

The thought was too complex for his still-developing vocabulary, but he nevertheless processed it and came to his own conclusions; Carenoril would probably be happy to kill and eat Daedor, but not eat her red sister's carcass… Angrisla seemed to be lacking flame, in the same way that some of the dragonets had lacked wings – he was, if he did but know it, a cold-drake, but all he knew was that Carenoril and Daedor both could flame, and he was likely to be Daedor's next target. And yet…

Carenoril didn't seem to like Daedor. Angrisla didn't understand, couldn't process the sibling bondings between the reds or the blacks; he'd had no grey sibling to bond with. But the ancient imperatives were lodged deep inside him, and one thing he did understand was that a male dragon needed a female dragon and that there was now only one female left.

If he was to survive, if he was to gain the female – and therefore the protection of her flame – he was going to have to stand with her now.

Angrisla had no flame, but he had a force of character and strong, strong jaws.

He growled and hissed, and launched himself at Daedor, hitting him feet-first in the stomach and knocking him away from the kill. Carenoril flamed and defended the body of her sibling and Daedor staggered away.

Returning to Carenoril, Angrisla settled beside her, humming softly. It was a soothing, calming sound, and he didn't realise at first that it came from himself, or that he was enjoying the sounds. The smell of the blood rising from the kill was too much for him, though, and he lapped quietly at the pooling blood, hoping Carenoril would not notice.

But she did, and she pulled away and hissed at him.

'Carenoril,' he said softly. 'Be thinking... Must eat. Need eat. Daedor bad end Caranor. But… Daedor eat, get strong, who eat next? We eat, we get strong.' He dropped his voice. 'Then who next eat? Carenoril, is sad, no Caranor. But now is dead. Not eat is waste. Eat, grow strong.' He leaned in and his voice now was only just louder than thought. 'Then stronger than Daedor.'

Carenoril said nothing, but she backed away from guarding her dead sister and allowed Angrisla access. He smiled to himself as he feasted, and even more when Daedor tried to approach and Carenoril flamed him away again.

Angrisla ate until his belly bulged, the meat all the sweeter for it being Daedor's kill and for Daedor being kept from it by Carenoril. Knowing that Daedor would try to steal the rest, he had saved a goodly portion of the rump, and tugged it away, dropping it at Carenoril's feet. 'Need food,' he said. 'Make strong, eat. Like when waking from shell, we eat big one, dead for us to feed. Not waste chance, Carenoril. Lick. Taste. Eat…'

And, full of sorrow and fear and guilt and hunger, Carenoril ate, and Angrisla smiled and curled up beside her.

He woke with a start. The ground under him, the walls around him, were shaking and rumbling again. Carenoril twitched beside him, waking with a whimper.

'Calm,' Angrisla said. 'Still. Remember Coloneth, rock fall and last squeak? No want squeak Carenoril, I.'

It was a little, little earthquake, just an aftershock, but it set in motion things that had been happening high above, out of sight or perception of the trapped dragonets. Daedor, rejected and threatened now by the others, was first to notice, perhaps because he was hungry, still, and frightened of Carenoril's rage and flame and Angrisla's cold cunning.

So when the tremor began, Daedor took wing and flapped his way up, careful to avoid the constricting walls on either side of him. He rose a dozen or so body lengths – and he had grown again, was now the size of a large cow, had he known it – and came to a ledge in the wall. He tipped his nose up and huffed until flame came, and in the light saw that there was a vast amount of space above him. Suddenly, a crackle and crash, and a little flurry of rock thrown loose from above cascaded down and he tucked himself close against the wall.

Below, Angrisla saw the flash of flame, saw how high above went, so high it never seemed to stop. Could he get so high? Daedor had found a resting place… Angrisla might find one, also. But let Daedor waste his strength… Angrisla tucked his head over Carenoril's flank. As he had let her do all the work learning to fly, so now he was prepared to let Daedor take all the risks of exploration. Rock was falling down from up, and Daedor was up, so maybe Daedor might be dead of rock soon…

The rock stopped falling, the walls stopped shaking. Slowly, slinking, Carenoril made her way across to the remains of her sister's body and began to gnaw at the bones.

And suddenly the air changed.


	39. Chapter 39: Morning Meetings

WIDS 39: Morning Meetings

The tremor that had shaken and frightened the three dragonets was so minor that it didn't reach as far as the Great Palace complex in Mirkwood, but nevertheless, as Canadion was finally admitted to King Thranduil's throne room, he felt as if the ground was quaking beneath his feet.

Kept waiting for almost an hour, he'd had plenty of time to wonder why he'd been summoned. Was it to do with his unfortunate and possibly inaccurate representation of Prince Legolas' courage during the attack of the spiders? Or had his own lack of fortitude been found out? It was not, he reminded himself, that he was a coward. He had once gone up against a warg with only a short belt knife to his name… No. It was just the spiders. Or was there something else the king wanted him for?

'His majesty will see you now.' The king's advisor was dour and his voice disinterested. No comfort there, no hints, no clues.

He walked in, trying for his usual, easy, casual stride before making the proper obeisance, dropping to one knee and waiting.

'Rise. Approach… Enough. No further.'

Canadion stood where instructed and looked up at his king through lowered lashes with a loose-mouthed smile, an expression that had served him well in the past. He had no idea if it would work on the king, but it was worth a try…

'Arveldir?' the king said in languid tones.

From behind Canadion, the voice of the advisor. 'Yes, my king?'

'You had better stay, I think.'

'As my king pleases.'

Canadion took a better look at Thranduil. He'd never been called to the royal presence before, and the king had only ever been a distantly-glimpsed figure and subject of hushed family gossip. The long, silver-fair hair and tall form was familiar, of course. The dark brows over the dangerous bright blue eyes, now looking disinterested. Thranduil was seated almost sideways on his throne, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, the long, slender fingers of one hand toying with the chiselled chin. Imposing. Regal. And, actually, rather tempting, Canadion realised.

'Canadion.' The king moved suddenly, uncrossing his legs and sitting upright on his throne, the transition from bored king to alert ruler intimidating in its swiftness. 'I understand you are a distant kin to my sons through the sisters of your mother.'

'So my honoured naneth is forever telling me, majesty,' Canadion replied.

Behind him, Arveldir cleared his throat; it would seem that the almost proper term of address wasn't quite proper enough for his liking.

'I wish to know whether there is any history in the family of foresight.'

'Foresight, my king?' Canadion was taken aback. Of all the things he expected the king to have heard about him, he had not expected that! 'I promise your majesty I have not attempted any…'

'It is not a crime to have foresight. Only to claim to have it to mislead the unwitting, can it be that you do not know this?' the king asked.

'Of course, majesty, but I do not have this… this curse…'

'That was not the question,' Thranduil said.

'Your pardon.' Canadion turned innocent, wide eyes on his king with a look that stopped only just short of insolence. 'It may perhaps not be a curse. And had I known your most royal majesty required such knowledge from me, I would have done my utmost to make myself master of it. It grieves me to fail you so.' He paused, risked running the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and continued. 'For I would dearly like to please you, my king.'

'How unfortunate for you!' Thranduil said. 'I do not think it at all likely. However, go away, speak to your naneth and your aunts and ask them about foresight in the family. You will not trouble me further; Lord Arveldir will deal with any information you are able to glean. Arveldir!'

'Yes, my king?'

'Show this… person out.'

Thranduil swept down the steps and out through the exit which led directly to his private chambers, all his previous enjoyment of the morning's weapons-practice audiences fading. Such a waste of time! And the insolence of Canadion! It had been small compensation to refer to him as a 'person' and hand him over to Arveldir, but it was done, at least. He cast off his coat of red and gold and instead found something less heavy for over his tunic.

A visit to Tharmeduil was in order; breakfast would be over but Nestoril would still be there. He would like to ask her opinion as to the possibility of other foresighted individuals existing amongst the Silvan elves, wanted to be sure his son had recovered from his latest bout of illness.

He paused outside Tharmeduil's chambers, hearing voices – many voices, raised in loud conversation and laughter, and was a little surprised. Was this fitting, for a sickroom?

Even though he was king, it was his habit to give a peremptory knock at his sons' doors. After all, if he did not, it was possible he might see something he didn't like. The voices died down swiftly. The door opened; Nestoril smiled a welcome.

'My king,' she said in surprise, but her mouth held the shape of the laughter he had just heard. 'This is an honour.'

As Thranduil entered the room a person he didn't immediately recognise hastily rose from a seat to drop to one knee and bow his head.

'Please rise.' Thranduil glanced at the bent head. Did he know this elf…? Ah yes…

A long-ago memory, one of his less-pleasant recollections of being returned from Dagorlad. He had spoken to the families of each of the lost, even though it had taken weeks. This was one of those he'd visited, a youth barely older than he'd been himself… the memory connected with a name, and the name meant something more; he had been one of the three warriors under Legolas' recent care.

'It's Captain Govon, is it not? I am here as a parent, Govon, not as a king,' Thranduil allowed his voice to sound gentle. 'I trust you are well again?'

'Thank you, my king.'

Govon did as bid and returned to his seat next to Legolas. Iauron, also present, hastily got up from his chair and offered it to his father.

'Tharmeduil, had I known you would have so many visitors, I would have come later,' Thranduil said, arranging his long limbs tidily in the chair.

'We are, perhaps, too many.' Nestoril smiled at the king. 'Prince Tharmeduil had some questions concerning the recent events in the forest and Captain Govon kindly agreed to help answer them.'

'I see. Thank you for your service to my son, Captain.'

'Come, Govon. My prince, I will be back in an hour.'

Nestoril and Govon having left, Thranduil looked around the room with puzzled eyes.

'Whatever has been going on in here?' he asked.


	40. Chapter 40: Of the Nature of Truesight

'Come to my study, Captain.' Nestoril led the way along the corridor. 'We can sit for a while until the king has finished annoying my patient.'

'He knew me. The king remembered me.'

'Of course. That is one reason why we love him.' She gave her swift smile. 'He is our king, he remembers all of us.'

'I have a feeling he will never forget me after this morning,' Govon said, grinning as Nestoril's bright laugh rang out. 'Ai, Valar! And it was going so well!'

'I think it is still going very well.' They had reached the healer hall now, and Nestoril took a moment to talk to her duty staff before leading Govon through to her study and gesturing towards the comfortable chairs. 'You were able to help Prince Tharmeduil with his questions about conditions before the migration…' She spared him a sparkling, cheeky glance. 'And you've already featured several times in his drawings; you were not in the least a surprise to him, or to Prince Iauron…'

'I still do not quite understand those,' Govon admitted.

'He has insights and dreams and is making a collation of them. While he draws, I write down his notes, and as those things he has made note of come to pass, we mark them off…'

'Come to pass?' Govon queried, startled.

'Yes, it is surprising how close he comes to some things… you'll pardon my citing this example, but he has had great fun teasing Legolas about cuddling a warrior on a flet… which was you, Captain, and a very deft likeness – from when you were ill. Another image – and we have heard this morning from Legolas, just before the King joined us, how you pushed him safe from beneath a falling branch and landed over him – Tharmeduil had described this as you cuddling Legolas in return…' She dipped her eyes away from Govon who was looking a little uncomfortable. 'And there is a third image which Tharmeduil cited as uncontroversial proof that there was more to matters between you… I have seen this image, a very beautiful study, and most tastefully done and Tharmeduil has removed it from open display…'

'Ai, Healer Nestoril…'

She reached out to lay her hand over his and smiled reassurance. 'Do not mind it! You see, Iauron and Tharmeduil are both happy for their brother. If it brings you any comfort, Tharmeduil has many more less controversial images where you and Legolas feature together all of which suggest you will find a way to be together.'

'Do you think the prince has truesight?'

Nestoril hesitated before inclining her head. 'I have not named it as such to him, though. It is a name from the time of the Old Ways and fewer folk believe in it now. In part, that is a pity, for we have a wealth of traditions which are becoming lost to us, as if the people themselves reject them.'

'It is difficult, with truesight,' Govon said. 'It is both blessing and curse. Those who do not have it, fear it, and sometimes those who do understand seek to use it wrongly.'

'It sounds as if you speak with the voice of experience, Govon?' Nestoril enquired gently.

'My great-grand-naneth sometimes knew things. When it was time for the march to Dagorlad, I was not quite old enough to go. But, of course, I wanted to. And had my adar agreed, had he made himself responsible for me, they would have let me, for every warrior was needed. But Older Naneth took him aside and gave him such a talking too when he would have agreed, and then she went to my own naneth and although I did not hear, I saw her face pale at what was said.'

Govon lifted his head.

'And so I did not go to Dagorlad, to my shame, although older lads than I were kept at home in training for the last defence, should our warriors fail. Later I learned that Older Naneth had looked at me and seen me covered with blood, the blood of my father and my own mingling together. So my mother knew he would not come back, my father, but she knew that she did not have to lose both of us which she claimed was some comfort. But I, I did not know when he marched away that I would not see him again this side of the seas.'

Nestoril stared at him in astonishment. One of the things that had most troubled her was that she had no comparison for Tharmeduil, no other foresighted individuals she could ask about the mechanisms of their visions. And now here was Govon, with his tales of his great-grandmother…

'We do not often speak of it,' Govon continued, his tone almost apologetic for Nestoril was looking at him in such an odd way. 'And Older Naneth certainly wrote nothing down or drew any images on paper. But perhaps that is simply because she never thought of it. Also, while she was respected, she was also considered by the neighbours as one to be feared, although there was nothing to her but kindness.'

He shrugged. 'There was almost a fear of having the sight, an embarrassment, maybe. It may well be different for the son of the king, as it was different for the princes' mother.'

'People fear what they do not understand,' Nestoril said softly. 'But I have felt the lack of knowledge when it comes to Tharmeduil.'

'If any of our family stories are of use, I will tell them gladly. But Older Naneth is no longer here. My mother went with her long ago on her final journey west.'

Nestoril arched an eyebrow at that. It was unusual for any of the Silvan elves to sail west, many preferring to stay amongst their beloved forests. In truth, there was some debate, still, as to how far west they would be permitted to sail, and in her mind this accounted for their reluctance to leave the known unless pressed by some extremity.

'But you are not alone here, I think?'

'No, my sister Merlinith keeps house with me. We were granted permission to keep our family chambers when our mother left.'

He paused as there was a knock at Nestoril's door and one of her assistants came in bearing a tray with the makings of tea on it and a note.

'The chamomile tea I was expecting,' Nestoril said once the tea was poured and her assistant had left. 'The note is a surprise. I am invited to join the entire royal family at High Table tonight. A post-script informs me that other guests are to include you, Govon, and your sister, to whom the formal invitation is being sent.'

'When you say 'invite', I take it you mean 'required to attend'? Or may I decline? And why am I invited?'

Nestoril looked at him with cool amusement. 'As for my own invitation, I think it is because all the family are at table. Tharmeduil has not left his room in two weeks and I am his attending healer. And, yes, you could decline. But I would guess you are invited either because you were willing to speak to Prince Tharmeduil about your watch on the forest, or because the king knows you are his son's friend…' Govon groaned and Nestoril gave him a moment to compose himself before continuing. '…and so wishes to honour you…'

'To honour me! To scare me off, most likely!'

'And will he scare you off?'

'No. No, he never could. I will attend, of course. Besides, Merlinith will love it! And I don't doubt I will have to endure her flirting with Legolas, since she seems unable to help herself!'

Nestoril's rich laugh rang out.

'It is none of my business, and I know this,' she began, sobering a little and sipping her tea. 'But I have seen all three prince born and watched them grow up and I have nursed them through all their childhood ills. So it does my heart good when I see something happen to make any of them happy. You will not need it, but you have my support.'

'Thank you, Healer.' Govon finished his tea. 'I suppose I had better go to my sister. She will have had the news and no doubt want to show me every item of clothing she possesses and ask to judge what is most fitting for the High Table.' He sighed as he got to his feet. 'And the sad thing is, I will probably know exactly what is right. Good day to you.'


	41. Chapter 41: Disappointment

Thranduil stared around Tharmeduil's room, waiting for an answer to his question and frustrated that Nestoril had left. It was she he had really wanted to speak to… yet perhaps that would be best done without an audience.

So. Both Iauron and Legolas present, which spoke well of their fraternal affection, but he could not shake the suspicion that something more was going on here today…

Nor could he help but notice that not one of his sons seemed interested in answering him.

'Was there anything particularly difficult about my enquiry?' he asked.

Legolas was looking exceptionally bright-eyed today, he realised. He liked to see his sons happy, and of late his youngest had seemed rather to be struggling. In fact, that trip into Mirkwood seemed to have done him the power of good and today he had seem especially cheerful… except now, for some unknown reason, his mood had changed.

What's more, he was blushing.

Thranduil could not prevent an accusatory glance at Legolas.

'Father?' his youngest son said, uncertain. Thranduil waved a hand.

'It would appear that you and I need to talk. Arveldir will come for you at some point.'

'What's the matter?' Legolas swallowed, his lingering joy in the day suddenly fading. 'If I've done something to upset you…'

'We do not want to discuss this here. Not now. Not in front of your brothers.'

'If it's about…' Legolas began and faltered. It wouldn't embarrass him to defend his friendship with Govon, but it might embarrass his father…

'If it's about that captain of his, Adar, I already know,' Tharmeduil said. He reached for his ever-present sheaf of decorated parchments. 'It's all over here and you can't pretend you don't mind because on page seven…'

'Tharmeduil! Do not pretend to know how I feel simply from your own imaginings…'

'Well, I know it's no good threatening him with the disappointed lecture again,' Tharmeduil went on, 'because you always say one day we'll be disappointed in you in turn…'

'And, Father, if after everything Legolas has done for this kingdom, you were to suggest there's anything wrong with him finding companionship with a captain of your warriors,' Iauron put in, 'especially a mature and respected individual of good family, some of whom died defending some of our family, then I think that day may have finally come when Tharmeduil and I will be disappointed in our own adar, which is not a thing I ever thought I would be…'

'My brothers! Please, you are not helping…'

'Yes, we actually are, Legolas, for once!' Tharmeduil said. 'On page twelve…'

'Enough!' Thranduil shouted. The room fell silent, but twin spots of red anger lit the king's cheeks and Legolas was blushing more than ever.

Still, he rose from his seat and came to stand before his father.

'In private or here, Adar, it doesn't matter when we speak of this, the words will be the same. Govon didn't know who I was for more than a week, he was so very ill. Arachnid hunting poison makes the eyes cloud, did you know that? So I had the dubious pleasure of being vomited on by three warriors who didn't know who was the recipient of their illness… I minded when it was the lieutenants, I didn't care when it was Govon. And when we got home, father, it was I sought him. My fëa needs him. It is that simple, Adar, and I am sorry if that is not what you meant when you told me, less than two weeks ago, to find someone I could delight in.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps you could send me away, if it bothers you, as long as you send him away also…'

Thranduil shook his head, astonished. That his son would dare paraphrase his own words and quote them back at him…

That Legolas cared enough about this captain to face down his own father…

'Adar,' Iauron said gently. 'You're thinking of the kingdom. But you're never going to step aside, we know this. We don't care, and really, I don't mind if you rule forever, you're good at it. The thing being, if you ever do want to retire, then there's me, and Tharmeduil before Legolas would need to step up.' Out of the corner of his eye, Iauron saw Tharmeduil flinch but continued on. 'And even then, there is another heir on the way, if it's only his bonding with Govon would be such a problem…'

The king shook his head. 'I cannot begin to consider the problems… the issues…' He shrugged expansively. 'When I spoke as I did, Legolas, it was because I thought there was someone already and you had been hiding it, my son, and that was why you had been less than happy…'

Legolas shook his head. 'There was, once, but all was over a long time ago. I was… no longer required. But it does not matter; my fëa never once leapt towards that one…'

'I think I have heard enough.' The king got to his feet. 'Tharmeduil, you are looking well, which is my main concern. Tonight we will all be at the High Table.' He held each of their eyes. Tharmeduil looked delighted at the prospect of leaving his rooms for whatever reason, Iauron didn't seem to care, but Legolas' eyes had a wary look to them.

'When I say all,' Thranduil went on. 'I include Healer Nestoril and Captain Govon in that invitation. If he has family, they, also. And, my sons, however much you may feel I disappoint you in future, believe me it is nothing compared to what my own father did to let me down.'

'What was that, Adar?' Iauron asked, glad of a change of subject.

Thranduil paused at the door. 'Can it be that you do not realise? He died,' Thranduil replied. 'He was cut down in my sight and he died. He should not have done this and I have never been able to forgive him.'


	42. Chapter 42: Long Ago and Far Away

'He died?' Iauron said into the silence following Thranduil's departure. 'That was Adar's big disappointment in Grandadar Oropher, his dying in battle?' He shook his head, laughing.

'Ai, that's our own dear Adar!' Tharmeduil said. 'Come on, Legolas, it will be well,' he went on. 'Truly, it will be fine.'

'I'm glad of the thought,' Legolas began, 'but…'

'Never mind him!' Iauron nodded towards Legolas and grinned at Tharmeduil. 'Seen any cuddling in my near future, brother?'

'Ha! And if I had, I'd be more like to tell the poor maid's father about it than your good self! Now, you two get out and leave me in peace – I want to work on my pictures!'

Iauron laughed and held the door for Legolas. 'What are your plans for the rest of the day?' he asked, closing the door after him. 'Or has Adar completely ruined them?'

'I hadn't thought. I don't feel I'm quite home yet, somehow. When you came back from patrol, didn't it take you a day or so to get used to being back?'

Iauron thought about it. 'No, not really. But, in fairness, I didn't come back to news that one of my brothers was ill. I'd suggest we go to my rooms to work out what to do about Adar, but I guess you'd rather seek out your friend?'

'I think I'd better give him time to recover.' Legolas followed his brother along the corridor to Iauron's rooms. 'If Adar's really going to demand him to attend High Table, he'll need it… oh, and Govon has a sister…'

'Oh, yes?'

'Her name is Merlinith and Govon is excellent with the short bow, the long bow, the long knife, the short blade, the single and double sword…'

'All right, all right – your new best friend does everything perfectly!' Iauron said as they entered his rooms, shutting the door behind them and leaning with his back against it. He eyed his younger brother with amused interest. 'You know, I've never seen you blush to the very tips of your ears before, Legolas!'

'I was only trying to warn you that if you were to take any liberties with Govon's sister, there would probably be consequences…'

'Of course you were! And is he? Perfect, that is?'

'Iauron…!'

'Well, you looked content enough before Adar joined us. Isn't swapping braid clasps just a little… adolescent, though?'

'I don't know; it's not something I ever did before…'

'Oh? Anything else happen with your captain that you never did before?'

'Now you're being impertinent!'

'Sorry. It's only that… I know I joke about a lot… but, seriously, I thought we knew each other pretty well… I'm sure I'd have noticed if you'd found someone sooner…'

'Not if you were away, you wouldn't have.'

'Oh, so that's it! Well, you were wearing your glum face before I went on border patrol and met Gaelbainil… or 'Arwen', as she's really known, so it can't have been then… Before that, last time I was away for any length of time was… it was years ago, and even then…' he broke off, shaking his head and went to pull discarded clothes off a chair so Legolas could sit down, himself perching on top of a trunk covered with bits of old bow string and scattered oddments. 'It's a terrible thing to admit, but I don't remember when I last thought of you as being happy, youngest brother?'

'This morning, oldest brother. I was happy yesterday, and this morning.'

'What, is it too late for me to start showing proper fraternal concern?' Iauron grinned. 'I meant before the captain, you oaf! So… who is there here – or who was there here – when I was away six years since…' Iauron tipped his head to the side, waiting.

'It was much longer ago than that. And it didn't last long…'

'Oho! So now we are getting somewhere! Who was it, Legolas? Who despoiled you?'

'Iauron!' Legolas scowled and began to get to his feet. 'I have better things to do than provide entertainment for you and…'

'Oh, shut up and sit down! Was it you doing the despoiling, then? Come, you know all about my adventures…'

'Only because they do not seem to matter to you; if they mattered, I doubt you would be so forthcoming, unless you needed help…'

'I'm sorry, youngest brother, I am, really! I don't mean to sound so flippant… but I don't know how else to talk to you about this! And you know you need to talk to one of us, so that we can help with Adar… did he really give you his most regal blessing?'

'Something he said when we were last all hauled up before him… he seemed to know how it is with me… he even told me to find someone older, more discreet… but I didn't realise until today that he thought there already was someone and that I was unhappy because I was hiding it. And as you heard me say, there was nothing to hide, as it was over many long years ago…'

'And whoever it was…?'

'Is of no importance now. And has been of no importance for a long time, even before I met Govon.'

'Still, you're not like me…' Iauron shook his head at Legolas' astonished stare. 'No, I didn't mean… I just meant, I treat things more lightly than you do. The more you feel, youngest brother, the more you open yourself to pain.'

'But if I felt less, it wouldn't be worth it. Well. If you must know…'

'Yes, I think I must. Then if Adar wants me to be shocked and surprised about your past adventures, I can honestly say I'm not.'

'Why do I feel this is less about you supporting me with Father and more about you being at a loose end and wanting to embarrass me?'

'No, that really isn't my intention,' Iauron said in such genuine tones that Legolas would have believed him, had he not continued. 'My intention is just to find out who your previous swains were so I can judge your taste in lovers! The thought of embarrassing you never crossed my mind!'

Legolas sighed. 'I suppose my past is no different as for most of us, whether male or female… So there were one or two brief connections that never went anywhere… and then I met him.'

'Who?'

'No names. It doesn't matter, besides, you probably wouldn't want to be introduced to him one day and realise what he was to me at one time, that would be embarrassing. We were… friends… for quite some time. But it wasn't right. ' Legolas rubbed his hands together, looking at the floor between his feet as he spoke. 'He it was impressed on me the importance of discretion, but it went too far. It seemed as if he was ashamed, not of what he was or what we were together, but of me. Only of me. And it made me feel I was less than I should be. So, I discovered I was not as important to him as I had thought, and while he was important to me, my fëa had not been touched strongly enough for it to give me much sorrow when we parted.'

'Ai, Valar! I am sorry I asked, penneth!' Iauron said quietly. 'I had thought to hear a tale of youthful joy cut short by enraged parents… not of sorrow and unkindness! But now you must tell me who it was, so that I can call him to task for disrespecting the son of the king of Mirkwood!'

Legolas shook his head. 'Indeed, it is so long since, and I of so little worth to him, I doubt he would remember me. And I have no wish to remember him, especially not now I have found Govon. As for Father, he will understand, or he will not. It may well be that I have to hear the lecture time and again from him, but he will not sway me. I must be cautious, I know, and remember that I am not from home this time and he is more likely to see things he would rather not – so if you truly wish to help me, Iauron, and you should see me behaving with less discretion than I should, then it will be a kindness in you to tell me. I will go now; I think I will bespeak some bread and cheese from the kitchens, and take my lunch outside on the greensward.'

'If that's what you want, of course…' Iauron tailed off as something in his brother's words struck him… 'Wait up – what did you mean, not from home this time,' Legolas? Legolas?'

But the door had closed and his brother had gone.


	43. Chapter 43

The last of the bones of Caranor were gone; Angrisla, and Carenoril, had finished them in the night while Daedor had slunk around trying to scavenge and been repeatedly chased off. Angrisla stirred from sleep, opening his wicked yellow eyes.

Something was different.

Everything was more bright and less-dark. The rough shapes of the rock had edges and shade and tone and when he looked into the far-above, there was a very narrow twisting line of bright, bright white, brighter by far than the orange of Carenoril's flames.

Angrisla nudged Carenoril awake.

'Up,' he said. 'Time we go up now. But we go.'

'We?'

'We is you and is me,' Angrisla told her, staking a claim. 'Daedor do what Daedor choose, but is not of we.'

'Up, then.'

'First I.' Angrisla didn't want to lead, particularly, but nor did he want his back exposed and with Carenoril following, he felt safe with the knowledge that her flame would defend them both.

Whirring his wings, he leapt up and began to stroke the air, lifting his long body until he reached the ledge where Daedor had rested the night before. He landed and backed along, making room for Carenoril alongside, and looked down at the place that had been home.

The thin ribbon of brightness did little, really, to illuminate the darkness beneath, but it picked out odd shapes of rock and glints and gleams. The earth here was shattered, fragmented, and the dragonets had been lucky to have found a comparatively flat and secure place to hatch and start their lives – if, that is, it is lucky to have been buried hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the world alongside the body of one's dead dam and hatch with no notion of what or who you are…

Nature and nurture. For these dragonets, it could only be nature, and in this they were lucky; dragons are hatched wise, even if it sometimes takes them a little while to realise it.

So Angrisla looked down and saw where they had been, and he looked up and wondered what that bright ribbon was, and saw Daedor taking wing and rising up towards them.

'Again, up?' Carenoril suggested. 'More place rest up, look?'

Following her gaze, Angrisla saw another ledge on the opposite side of the open space. It was twice as far again from the ground, and for a moment he hesitated…

…but then he opened his wings and jumped, finding it easier to take off from the ledge than the ground, and he circled and swooped up as Carenoril followed after, and he found he liked the sense of flying, of moving up.

Together the red and the grey dragonets flew up and around until the came to the ledge and landed. Carenoril looked around and squeaked in excitement.

'See more along, not up here!' she said, turning and pushing her snout into an open space at her back. She puffed and huffed, and a shot of flame illuminated a long tunnel.

It also disturbed something, for there was a strange rushing and a squealing so high as to be at the very tip of the dragonets' exceptional hearing, and a cloud of little dark things burst over them and rushed out and up, towards the ribbon of light at the top.

And below in flight, desperately hungry and recognising something about the cloud of bats even though he had never seen or smelled or heard them before, Daedor snapped at the little things and swallowed them, gobbled them up. It took dozens to make a mouthful, hundreds to take the edge of his appetite, but there were thousands of the little things all in a panic at the sudden invasion of their cave by the bright orange flame from Carenoril.

'See! Daedor eat!' Angrisla said, and himself began to sift through the cloud of bats, gathering what he could. They were small and swift and crunchy, and more than once he found his jaws snapping on emptiness. He turned his head to huff in disgust, the breath coming from deep down where his missing flame should be, and a clump of bats in the way of his noxious breath dropped to the ground, lying stunned and senseless on the ledge.

This was good. He scavenged with his long tongue, eating the little bodies, inviting Carenoril to join the feast.

'What is?' she asked, picking at the morsels. 'Small crunch, need many, but is good.'

'Is many,' Angrisla replied, as the panicking cloud of bats swirled around Daedor, up past Carenoril and himself, and up towards the thin bright light. 'And was in down here. We stay here, we eat many of the smalls. No need fight-kill-eat Daedor yet.' He picked up the last of the corpses and swallowed it down. 'Not unless Carenoril want fight-kill-eat Daedor?'

'While is food, no. He bad, hurt Caranor, but only three now. Must try not to get dead, any. Come, Angrisla. What down here where small-eats was? We go see?'

'We go see, Carenoril. Come. Make flame-bright for look?'

Obligingly, Carenoril puffled a trickle of flame from her nostrils. She was getting better at control now, although she hadn't quite worked out where the flame came from or how she produced it; dragons are, after all, magical creatures, and perhaps the how and the why and the where can be answered by that one word: magic.

But now she made a soft orange flame that illuminated the tunnel ahead. Above in the vault of the underside of the earth was the bat's roost, and some of the colony still hung and swung there while other survivors of the dragonets' feasting slowly flitted back to their spaces.

Carenoril and Angrisla advanced into the huge space that opened out before them, cave after cavern after cave, and bats hanging down like clusters of grapes from the ceiling. Here was new. Here was space. Here was a trickle and splash of water underfoot and they discovered drinking. Here was foodsource, and it was suddenly all good.


	44. Chapter 44: Greensward

WIDS 44 Greensward

Legolas escaped Iauron's rooms with relief, fleeing to the calm of his own chambers. He needed a little time to himself after the confrontation with his father and the teasing enquiries of his brother. He shut the door behind him and walked Here was where Govon had sat, had lain… the warrior's presence was still in the room; if Legolas closed his eyes, he could imagine him still here, in the inner room, perhaps even in the bed.

Suddenly he realised he didn't need time to himself at all; he felt alone, lonely in a way he had never felt before. Govan's company was what Legolas needed now, chance to talk through how they'd felt when his father had arrived, chance to laugh about it, maybe, and agree it didn't matter.

He hoped it didn't matter; all this was still so new, so fresh…

Outside, the day was bright and tempting. Yes. Lunch on the greensward with Govon, what could be better?

Today, when Legolas presented himself at the kitchen with a smile, the housekeeper wouldn't be talked out of any of the special beer. 'Big order for the High Table to fill for this evening, my prince,' she'd said. 'And it's worth more than my job, or Galion's, to stint your royal father tonight.'

But she had parted with plenty of the lesser brew, and had gladly put together the makings of lunch for him.

His heart lifted as he approached the clearing… and then fell abruptly. Govan was there, yes, seated cross-legged under the open sky on the soft turf, but he was not alone; two other elves were with him, also; the lieutenants from the flet. All seemed happy and relaxed, enjoying comradeship under the bright spring sunshine.

He hesitated in the shadows at the edge of the glade. Would he be an intrusion? He remembered the sudden change of mood in Tharmeduil's room this morning when his father had arrived…

But then the conversation lulled, and he saw Govon's eyes sweeping the edges of the glade, the smile fading slowly from his fine mouth as if he was looking for someone and disappointed not to see anyone there.

Legolas took a deep breath, made sure his smile would not be too exuberant, and stepped out of the shelter of the trees.

At once Govon spotted him, but it was one of the other elves who hailed him.

'Ai, it's our fair elf! My prince, will you join us?'

'Thank you, Tegolon.' Legolas lowered himself to the grass in the space Govon had made for him. 'Have you, like me, remembered your Captain's dream from the flet? I have beer, although, alas, it is not the best.'

'Not of myself, but Hador reminded me, when the message came this morning.'

Hador nodded. 'Indeed, such an honour! Was it your doing, then?'

'My doing…?'

'There's the answer for you, Hador!' Govon said. 'Legolas, we have all been invited to the King's High Table tonight. We know it is his majesty's pleasure sometimes to honour those who have been injured fighting for him, and although we three did little more than fall sick…'

'But, earlier, I was talking also to Commander Bregon,' Tegolon put in. 'And he says all who were injured have had the request, along with himself and some others.' He shrugged. 'Whatever, it was suggested that dress uniform would be appropriate…'

Hador groaned. 'Ai, and there was me hoping not to put the grey and green back on for a two-week!'

'Is that how long before you return to duty?' Legolas asked.

'The healers say not before then. Something to do with the poison can linger in the system and if we push too hard too soon, it can reawaken. But I feel no ill-effects.'

'That's good to hear.' And it was natural to ask, 'Tegolon? Govon? Are you well of the poison now?'

'I am fine,' Tegolon said. 'My captain I think is not quite well of it.'

'Oh?' Legolas made his tone polite.

'It is nothing. A slight tremor which the healers tell me will wear off swiftly.'

'Will it prevent you from drinking beer?' Legolas smiled as Govon shook his head. 'Then I am sure it is not serious.'

He passed bottles around and cracked the top on one for himself. 'To your health, warriors, now and future.'

They clinked bottle necks and drank. Presently, Hador downed his empty bottle and got to his feet. 'Well, and my flet dream was to see my wife and little ones again, so I should go back and rejoice in them once more,' he said. 'My thanks for the beer, and until later, Govon.'

'I, too, have a family claiming me.' Tegolon rose in turn. 'Be well, Captain, my prince.'

Govon waited until his two lieutenants had left the clearing before turning to Legolas with a huge grin.

'Thank the Valar for that! I thought they'd never go!'

Legolas laughed.

'And what happened to 'drinking beer with a friend or two', Govan?'

'Ai, I find I only need the one friend for that.' He shifted position to lie on one side facing Legolas, propped on one elbow. 'Tell me, melleth, how went it with your father the king? Was he very angry?'

'Not so much that you need worry. He was surprised, I think, more than anything. My brothers spoke out in support of us, I am sure it will be well…' Legolas began unpacking the food. 'And the invitation for this evening – he only told us we were expected be present and that you and Healer Nestoril would be asked. And so it now seems to me that perhaps Adar has included others of the warriors so that you do not feel isolated amongst us, and that he wants to begin to know more about you. However, I may be wrong. Indeed, it will be the first time in many weeks that we all go to table together. Tell me, are you hungry now?'

'Indeed.' Govon smiled and swiftly sat up again, bringing his face close to Legolas'. 'But should we eat first?'


	45. Chapter 45: At the High Table

Nestoril tapped on Tharmeduil's door and entered.

'Oh and so your family has left you in peace at last!'

Tharmeduil looked up from his drawings, a frown lingering on his face. 'Yes. Father was a little harsh. He must have known about Legolas; we all did!'

'And knowing about something is not different from having it proven? From having the proof introduced to you in the shape of one of your own subjects, when you least expect it?'

'True… Well, at least Adar was not rude to Govon.'

'King Thranduil would not be rude to any of his warriors, I am sure, and certainly not in front of others. But you like Govon, I think?'

'I like what Legolas is with him. I like… Govon is everywhere in my drawings of late, and it is hard not to like what I see of him. But… it is complex. There is something that needs to happen… it is not that there are choices, it is that there are two things that may come to be, and if this thing happens first, then there is only one, and Govon is there and here and through all my pages… but if not, oh then I stop drawing him and it saddens me…' Tharmeduil looked up, confusion in his fair face. 'What do I do, Nestoril? When I see these things, should I try to warn people? Or will that make everything change? And then what?'

Nestoril sighed and sat down.

'These are some of the things your mother wondered, also. I did not know then what was right, and I do not know now. But what I do know, dear Tharmeduil, is that one of the things that contributed to her death was she tried to read too much into every possibility, and made herself see and see past the point at which she could recover. So I think people are fickle and changeable, and it will only drive you to despair or madness to try to see every possible path...'

Tharmeduil shook his head. 'All right. But things like the spiders and the dragons…'

'I'm sure it's fine to talk about such threats; it can only help us to prepare. I think it is merely where there is such… such ambiguity. Come. Let us see what else there has been that has come to pass… Ah, but here is this morning's meeting already; see, the king? And… what's this? Did your brother really stand so in front of him?'

Tharmeduil nodded. 'Indeed, and both Iauron and I tried to support him. It did not seem to go badly…'

'Well, no, not as we are all summoned to dinner tonight.' Nestoril rested her hands on her knees for a moment before getting to her feet. 'I shall return later so that you can escort me to the table. I'm quite looking forward to it.'

The High Table in the feasting hall could seat up to thirty individuals and, although usually only a few places were set for the kings family and court, tonight it was filled.

Thranduil sat in an oversized chair at the centre of the table. To his left was Captain Govon, a little uncomfortable in the dress uniform which was a currently rather loose on him, while on his right Commander Bregon sat, also in formal warrior garb. Against his better kingly judgement but with fatherly compassion, Thranduil had given Legolas the seat next to Govon with Merlinith on the prince's other side and Arveldir beyond. To the right of Bregon was Iauron, then Nestoril and Tharmeduil on her far side. The rest of the places were filled with the warriors injured or poisoned in the spider battle, their spouses invited to the High Table too, so Hador and Tegolon were there with their wives, almost opposite Govon. Even Thiriston Cut-Face and Canadion were present, placed as far from the king as possible.

The hall was full, for word had got around that King Thranduil was feasting his brave warriors, and those who might otherwise have eaten at home had come to enjoy the spectacle of heroes dressed in formal uniforms and eating their dinner amongst royalty.

For Govon, being placed between Legolas and the king was both honour and torment.

The memory of a very pleasant afternoon together in the privacy of Legolas' chambers should, Govon thought, have taken the edge off his need. Instead, every nerve thrummed, every glance and word from the prince thrilled him. Legolas would lift a hand, or turn his head, and the waft of experimental oil-of-sandalwood from their earlier encounter would drift across and Govon found himself struggling to keep his hands to himself.

But this was a formal event, and he had to behave appropriately. At his side, Legolas did his princely duty flawlessly, engaging Merlinith in polite conversation and admiring how her robe of amber silk set off the tones of her hair, although under the table the prince's thigh pressed against Govon's in secret intimacy.

'My brother helped me choose,' Merlinith admitted. 'He has an eye for such things.'

'Indeed?' It was all the chance Legolas needed to smile and speak to Govon. 'Your sister tells me you have an eye for beauty?'

'Who can help it, living amongst such glories as we have here?' Govon replied. 'The forest is rich in wonders, after all.'

'Do you know the forest well, Captain?' Thranduil asked, causing Govon to almost spill his wine in surprise at being addressed.

'Some of it, my king; I know the region around the northern outposts best; I've done most of my duty tours there for the last five years or so.'

'Indeed? Do you never get bored?'

'Bored, your majesty? This is Mirkwood, and my station is in a region prone to arachnid incursion; if you get bored, you get dead quite quickly.'

Thranduil smiled and toyed with his glass. 'What are your preferred weapons, Captain?'

'Oh… I've been using short bow mostly of late. But bladed weapons, by choice. I prefer the straight edge over the cutlass-form lhang…'

'Yes? Do you ever work with twin blades?'

On the other side of the king, Bregon tried to catch Govon's eye with a shake of the head, but Govon, supremely oblivious, was nodding avidly.

'Yes, my father was a purist and taught me the classic form in my youth.'

'Really? Then we should practice together some time. When you have recuperated from your recent ordeal; I trust you are feeling better?'

'I'm starting to, my king, thank you…'

Servers bringing in more food interrupted the conversation and Govon began to breathe once more. Legolas claimed his attention again, insignificant conversation because it had to be, with so many eyes and ears paying attention, but, still, the rest of the meal flew by in a haze of sandalwood and surreptitious sub-tablecloth contact.

Finally the table was cleared and the drinks replenished, the good beer served. Thranduil glanced across at Arveldir, who called everyone to attend the king.

The hall fell into a respectful silence and Thranduil stood and gestured around the table at the warriors gathered there.

'Tonight we gather to honour our wounded and thank them for their service in keeping our realm safe and pushing back the darkness a little further from our gates,' Thranduil said, raising a glass of beer in salute. 'We drink to them.'

The honour given, Thranduil sat down. He allowed his High Table guests time to savour their drinks and relax for a few moments before commencing to question his neighbouring guests.

'Commander Bregon,' he began. 'Have you ever worked with Captain Govon or his lieutenants, perchance?'

'To my knowledge, only with Lieutenant Hador, who was assigned to me for a time shortly after his training. My king wants to know because…?'

'No matter. Captain Govon, how long before you and your lieutenants are fit for duty?'

'Two weeks at least, my king, so we are told. Although we are eager to return to service, of course.'

'No doubt. One can find oneself drawn into all manner of bad habits when one's time is not filled with duty…'

Govon somehow kept his expression politely attentive.

'Indeed, my king. For myself, I have taken up new pursuits to fill my time…'

At his side, Legolas struggled not to spray good beer though his nose.

'…and my sister is glad of the company, of course. I miss my work, although I cannot say I miss that particular flet.'

'Try to regain your fitness swiftly, you and your lieutenants. I want your services.'

'My king?'

'And that of all these warriors at my table, also.' Thranduil raised his voice to reach the entire table. 'Commander Bregon?'

'My king?'

'The court will shortly be riding out to meet with Imladris beside the Great River. It is fitting that we have appropriate warriors who have proved their willingness to fight and, indeed, to suffer for their King…'

A stir grew around the table as those in attendance began to really listen.

'By the time we ride, scouts will have returned and the route explored; there should be no surprises but we want proven warriors with us. The injured of your troop, Commander Bregon, with the addition of the Captain here and his lieutenants. We will travel with a regular company in attendance, but your command will be our honour-guard.'

Along the table, Arveldir rolled his eyes. This was not how it was done! The king could not simply make announcements like this and expect them to come to fruition…

Except he was their king and he could do anything he wanted.

And he knew it.

'My king, it would be a privilege to serve you… but there are lines of communication… Captain Govon has his own Commander to report to…'

Thranduil waved a hand. 'Arveldir will attend to everything, Commander. Just get your injured fit and well and ready for a long journey. You have at least three weeks, more likely four.'

'Of course, my king.' Bregon bowed his head. 'This is truly an honour.'

'Please continue at table; this night is yours, after all.' Thranduil rose to his feet. 'My sons, attend me.'

Once the Sindar royal court had left, Bregon leaned across to speak to Govon, an apology in his face.

'Captain, understand I intend no disrespect… but you are not one of mine and how your own commander will respond…'

'I know that, Commander. And it is an honour, indeed!' Govon replied, although it did not feel like an honour; it felt like a way for King Thranduil to take Legolas away from him for a while, just as easily as the king had taken him away from the table. 'My Commander's name is Esgaron.'

'Good; I will seek him tomorrow and explain the king's wishes, although no doubt Master Arveldir will also approach him. I am sure you and I could work well together, if we are granted the chance.'

'Indeed, I have reason to be grateful to you, since it was your command that found us after the attack…' Govon was interrupted by Merlinith laying her hand on his arm and speaking softly in his ear. 'Commander, my sister reminds me I'm still tiring easily after the venom, and I shouldn't linger. I'll bid you goodnight.'


	46. Chapter 46: Now, Tomorrow, Forever

No sooner had Govon had escorted Merlinith from the hall than she patted his arm to halt him.

'The prince asked me to get you out of there as quickly as I could; he'd like to speak with you.'

'Ah… I wondered what you were up to…'

'Besides, it's been an exciting day and I'm a little tired.' She gestured along the corridor leading to the royal wing. 'Go and see what your prince wants, then. There'll be more beer-drinking involved, no doubt!'

'Goodnight, Merlinith. Don't wait up for me.'

'Well, either be quiet when you come home or don't come home at all!'

Was that permission? Govon smiled to himself. 'I won't disturb you, I promise.'

He tried not to hurry along the corridors, but the memory of the afternoon burned in him, the promise of the wafts of sandalwood and the heat of brief contact at the High Table was too strong and he walked briskly to Legolas' chambers.

The door was ajar, and before he could knock on it, swung wide.

'You're free to walk in, anytime, you know,' Legolas said. 'I don't like that you have to knock.'

The prince had taken off his jacket, and his shirt was loose and open at the neck, exposing his throat. He reached for Govon, pulling him into the room and shoving the door closed, wrapping his arms around the warrior and pressing his body close against him.

'Ai, what an evening!' he said softly. 'So close to you and so far!'

'Yes, indeed.' Govon savoured the embrace, feeling the prince hardening against him, his own response. 'But now we are alone. We should make the most of it, for when I am called to the king's honour guard… I do not know how long I will be away…'

'Do you wish to talk of this now?' Legolas eased out of the hug and sat on the sofa, pulling Govon down with him and taking both his hands in his, unwilling to relinquish his hold. 'What is the matter? I am sure we will find a way… it will be difficult, there will be many eyes on us, but not everyone can watch everywhere each moment of the journey…'

'I don't understand… I thought… are you coming on this trip, then?'

'We are all going, my father, my brothers, Arveldir… Nestoril too, I expect. It is many, many years since our houses met, and it is rare that Mirkwood has anything Imladris covets… I know my father, and it is entirely in his nature to make a royal procession through the forest simply to say 'no', if he feels like it. Of course, in this case, it's more about Iauron, so…'

'You're going too, melleth?' Govon repeated.

'Yes… you did not realise?'

Govon shook his head. 'No – I thought the king was trying to separate us.'

'Instead, it seems like Adar is allowing us to be together. Under his eye, of course, which makes 'together' a relative term, but, still…'

'But, that is…' Govon ran out of words. It was wonderful, it was a huge relief, it was… intimidating. He would be riding as honour-guard to his king, his princes – and his lover, and maintaining a proper bearing would be a challenge. 'That is so much better than I had thought!'

'Yes.' Legolas stroked his thumbs over the backs of Govon's hands. 'Is there anything more troubling you, or shall we make love now?'

'That's a good thought.'

Govon got to his feet and stood while Legolas unfastened the clasps of his dress coat, his hands on the prince's waist. Through the thin linen shirt, his melleth's skin was warm, inviting Govon to slide his hands under the hem and explore upwards, caressing the fine, soft skin over the flat abdomen and firm muscles. His fingers drifted around Legolas' body to climb his spine and caress his shoulders beneath the shirt. The prince stopped unbuckling and sighed, dipping his head to Govon's neck with a groan.

'Melleth-nin, if you do that, how can I concentrate on your garments?'

Govon stepped back, pulling Legolas' shirt off over his head and shrugging out of his own tunic. He filled his eyes with the sight of his lover's body, reaching out again as soon as Legolas had hurried him out of his own shirt.

'Ah, the sight of you, melleth!' Govon said. His hands linked in Legolas' hair and pulled him in for a kiss that lasted forever, that was far too short. 'And the taste.'

Legolas nodded as he caressed Govon's shoulders. 'It's the sandalwood, melleth-nin – it does the job admirably but it lingers everywhere!' His hands swept down Govon's back to slide inside the waistband of his leggings and stroke the hidden skin of his lower back. 'Come to bed?'

'I thought you would never ask!'

Legolas smiled and headed for the sleeping chamber, pulling Govon with him. They battled each other free of boots and leggings, becoming distracted and entranced by the touch of cool hands on heated skin, but soon tumbled down together in a delighted, delicious tangle of limbs and flowing hair, stroking hands and hot, moist mouths, heady and urgent.

Legolas lifted his head away from Govon's heated lips, sliding down his body to catch a nipple between his teeth and flick his tongue over it while his lover gasped and grasped at him.

'Ai, melleth…! Legolas…'

The fair elf released him, eased back up to pin his lover down, hip over hip, erection against erection. He smiled, suddenly feeling playful, and bounced his pelvis down, causing Govon to convulse against him.

'Ah, my fair elf… I need you!'

'This is nice.' Legolas smiled into Govon's amazing hazel eyes. 'Feeling the heat of you. The wanting of you.'

'Saes…' Govon groaned as the prince flexed against him once more, and suddenly Legolas wasn't smiling but gasping as his own need grew too great and he bent his head to kiss that fine, fine mouth and Govon's arms caught him, sliding down to cup him softly before rolling him onto his back, himself on top, his own hips bucking and grinding against his prince.

'Truly, melleth-nin, I need you. I need you now, tomorrow, forever… Ai…!' Govon broke off as Legolas lifted his head and caught Govon's lower lip briefly between his teeth, his tongue tracing the soft skin, his hands exploring across Govon's back and the globes of his buttocks, gently, teasingly probing and then ceasing, so that the captain felt suddenly bereft with only the throb of his need and the tempting, taunting tongue connecting him to his lover. The sudden and fragrant spice of sandalwood, and slick, soft fingers once more, entering, stretching, but then in a change of heart, perhaps, the same oiled hand stroking and sliding between their two bodies to coat Govon's arousal with oil and the prince moving, spreading his thighs and lifting his hips, guiding Govon towards him, his breath fast and rough with desire as the captain slowly filled him, waiting until he was sure Legolas was ready, receptive, before beginning to move and rock and pull, to brush the fine, silver-fair hair back from the exquisite face, to lock eyes before dipping down for another kiss, and finally, as the prince gasped and bucked and cried out into his mouth, to thrust and push and fall into senseless rapture as he climaxed, feeling the sudden surge and heat of his melleth's semen exploding against his belly, hearing words of love and promise and not knowing, in the glory of the moment, whether it was his own voice or his lover's saying them.

He slipped out of the beautiful body beneath him and cradled Legolas in his arms. It didn't matter who had said what; they were one and the same fëa, after all.

Govon smiled, and took that thought with him into sleep.

When he woke, it was still dark and for a moment he wondered where he was; not his own chamber…

And he was not alone.

His fair elf was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, naked and his pale skin gleaming like moonlight. The silver-gold hair was unbraided, falling around his face and shoulders and although his glorious mouth was serious, his entire being seemed to smile.

'Govon, melleth-nin, I've been thinking,' he began in his melodious voice, made deep and dark with emotion.

The captain sat up in bed, eyes drinking him in. 'Is that wise, in the middle of the night, after strong wine and good beer, and love?' he asked.

The prince ducked his head, almost embarrassed.

'No. it's simply this: it does not seem right, to me, that you have to knock on my door. I would like you to make free of my rooms. I would invite you to live here with me, but I fear your sister might not like it…'

'I can think of many others who might not-like it even more than she…'

'Saes, hear me… you need me, you said. Now, tomorrow, forever... But did you say that in the heat of the moment?'

'I said it from the depths of my fëa, pe-channas!' Govon said, grinning suddenly. 'And I was sure I heard you say you love me, after. Or was that in the heat of the moment, too?'

'Of course not! Govon, I want you to feel you have a right to be here, however much a part of my life as you wish to be…'

He faltered suddenly and Govon crawled over to enfold him in his arms. 'Don't worry about me,' the captain said. 'There's something up, what is it melleth?'

'I want you to know… you do not need to knock, you do not need to beg, you do not need to… there is no difference between us that matters, you know that?'

'Why would you think I fear such things?'

Legolas shook his head. 'It is not important. But there is a key for you, if you want it. So that you need not knock. But… it does not mean that you have to spend all your time here if you have other…'

Govon interrupted him with a swift kiss.

'How long is it going to go on for, melleth, that your mouth will keep talking when it has better things to do?'

Legolas gave him a slow, shy smile. 'I think you mentioned now, tomorrow, forever,' he said. 'If that is all right with you?'

Saes - please

Pe-channas! - idiot!


	47. Chapter 47: The Court Guard

High Captain Rawon was not having the best of mornings. His planned meeting with King Thranduil had, mercifully, taken place in the king's study and not the sparring chamber… but complication on complication had been laden on top of the king's already-challenging list of requirements for the forthcoming royal progress through the forest to camp beside the River Langflood above where it widened and became the Great River.

Patrols and extra guards and new levels on the frontier flets… increased presence in the forest and additional spider hunts… the necessity to keep the spiders away from the road, to prevent their return to the habitat they'd abandoned… all this could be done.

'And you will scout the route and make it safe, making new flets at appropriate intervals and keeping guards on them, stashing extra supplies to minimise the effect on our supply train…'

This, too, was possible.

'And you will pick whatever warriors you wish to provide an adequate company for our protection. But my honour guard will be made up of those warriors at the High Table last night – which means you must acquire the services of Captain Govon and his two lieutenants…'

'My king – they are not even in the same branch of service, never mind the same command!'

'You are Over-Captain. It is your prerogative to order things as you will. This is how I wish it to be, and so it is your wish also. Attend to it. Arveldir has our planned route; exchange details with him. Report to me weekly as to your progress and have Bregon report to me as to the fitness of his wounded on a regular basis, also.'

'I will begin at once.'

'One thing further. We will not cross to the Imladrian side of the Langflood, nor do we expect them to cross to the Mirkwood bank. We need an eyot. The Carrock is too far downstream, but there is a more northerly alternative which is suitable, where the pack bridge used to be…'

'I know the one, my king. The bridge washed away some thirty years ago…'

'It will need to be reinstated. On our side, that is. Our main camp will be on the plain, of course, but a small encampment will be required on the eyot for the formal talks.'

'And the Imladrian side of the river?'

'Will be their responsibility; they will be made aware of the fact.' The king waved a lazy hand. 'Let me detain you no further; you have much to attend to.'

And so Rawon had bowed himself out and stalked off to the barracks in search of Commander Bregon.

He ran the commander to ground in what passed for his office – a desk in the armoury of his company barracks – frowning and shuffling papers.

'Commander Bregon?'

Bregon looked up, his frown easing as he recognised his visitor. 'Captain Rawon – please, take a seat. May I help you with something?'

'You may have heard of our king's planned expedition, I take it?' Rawon said as he sat down.

Since there were no subordinates present to see, Bregon allowed himself the luxury of an eye-roll.

'Ai, Captain… My company has been most highly honoured!'

'I feel for you!' Rawon said, grinning. 'How goes your planning for this great attention?'

'That the king wants our wounded heroes to be his honour guard has delighted all my warriors… except for two, who I fear may not be well enough in time… and I am to command this company, which is also an honour for me… but that I must include warriors from another command and they, too, are classed as wounded…'

'That would be Govon, Hador and Tegolon? I've been told of the need to include them; his majesty seems quite insistent… do we know why?'

'Because King Thranduil wants it so.' Bregon was beginning to have his own suspicions, but kept them to himself; Rawon would not be on the journey with them, after all. 'I'm not averse to commanding them, and have already spoken privately with Commander Esgaron… he is… reacting as any of us would when told three of our warriors were being summarily reassigned, but he understands it is the king's order…'

'Still, he must fear the rest of his command will see it as a slight…'

'Indeed,' Bregon said. 'I had thought of assigning the three as personal guards for the royal court, perhaps with three from my own command…'

'It would make for balance. What if the regular company was to be drawn from Esgaron's command?'

'That would recompense his warriors, but I doubt they would willingly follow my lead; Commander Esgaron himself would be needed, also…'

'Could you work with him, one commander to another?'

'We are both aware that he has the higher rank, but if I lead the honour guard, as the king requires, that sets me above him…'

'Well, and that is easily settled!' Rawon smiled and stretched. 'Given your recent achievements against the spiders, a promotion is not unreasonable. Just to take you to the same rank as Commander Esgaron.'

Bregon sat straighter in his seat. 'That would be… and a demotion when we returned, of course?'

'No – why would it be necessary, you've served well? And, between us, if you are the king's new favourite, it will not hurt that your Over-Captain has noticed your worth before being told to, will it?'

'Then, my thanks…'

'One other point,' Rawon went on. 'Your idea of three and three in the personal guard… it would appease Esgaron, I think, if you gave command to his captain… if the fellow is able enough… and your chosen three will follow him?'

'I will ensure I choose the three from my company with that in mind, Captain.'

'And… this Govon. He'll have to have a promotion, too, I suppose…'

'He is most deserving of it, I assure you, Rawon. You'll hear him claim all he did was get bitten by a spider and fall ill while on an outpost flet, but… and mark this, Captain. None of the warriors on the other flets even tried to attack the spiders – they hid from them, instead. Now, while this is not cowardice, but common-sense…'

'So what takes Govon's actions out of the realm of foolhardiness and into heroism?'

'One of the lieutenants got tangled up and could not flee. Govon stayed to defend him and the other who was attempting to free him. And the tale did not come from them, but from Rimon, one of my own lieutenants, who eventually got it from Hador…' Bregon shrugged. 'I think Rimon would be good amongst in the personal guard…'

'Call it the Court Guard; it sounds better.'

'Indeed, it does. And I'm tempted to put Canadion and Thiriston there, too…'

Rawon winced. 'Really? After the king outmatched Cut-Face with the tumbling knives, and Canadion made suggestive eyes at him in his own throne room?'

'Ha! Did he so? My reason being they've all seen Prince Legolas fighting – even if they like to pretend otherwise. Thiriston will keep Canadion under control – he's not a bad little warrior as long as it's not spiders...'

'There will be no spiders within two day's march of the royal procession – I've had my orders.' Rawon got to his feet. 'And you've made my day a little easier. Just make sure your company are all fit and well in plenty of time. Good day to you!'


	48. Chapter 48: Silvan Tradition

Tharmeduil was restless, more restless than usual.

While it had been a blessed relief to get out of his rooms for a few hours – even if it had been just for a formal court dinner – what he had heard there had just made his head spin.

It was all tied up with the strange confusion of images around Govon and Legolas…

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't rest, and although he had pretended to Nestoril that he was fine and ready to retire for the night, as soon as she had gone he reached for his sheets of parchment and notebooks and spread them out across the table.

Firstly, he needed to isolate all those images with Govon and Legolas and redraw them on a clean sheet in as correct an order as he could… Legolas and Govon on the flet, Govon saving Legolas from the fallen branch…

…the fallen branch…

…Legolas in his bathing pool, Govon washing his hair and even in the tiny sketch, such love in his eyes…

…Govon sitting up in bed, staring at a naked, cross-legged Legolas… better not let Nestoril see that one. Or Adar, for that matter.

…and a huge break, a gap of weeks before the next image, himself and Govon standing listening near a pavilion, Govon's face stricken or outraged…

That was it, those were the only clear images… except…

Why had he drawn that last one twice? It wasn't pleasant to look at, to see the expression on Govon's face, outraged, or stricken…

But they were not the same, they were different.

And the more closely he looked, the more he thought he understood… stricken, or outraged? It depended which picture you were looking at, but that was the only thing between them.

No, it wasn't. There was one other detail, insignificant, minor, of no importance whatsoever…

Unless you knew Silvan tradition.

Suddenly, Tharmeduil was filled with the urge to draw, and he reached for his pigment sticks…

He talked as he drew, as if Nestoril had been there, listening to his own ramblings as if they might make sense, changing from colour to charcoal to pigment, writing three words over and over and sketching at several different places on the parchment at once; Legolas; Nestoril, Adar… he drew them all, shaking his head, not understanding why he needed to do this, but scribbling and filling and talking and laughing and weeping until he had emptied himself of pictures and with a sigh, sat back and closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes with difficulty to thin daylight and a stiff, scratchy feeling to his face that he was beginning to recognise. He sighed. Nose and eye bleed again, this was growing to be a habit, a very unpleasant one. Still, at least he could see, even if everything did look a bit odd…

Bathing room. Water, cloth, face… repeat… and, finally, mirror. Oh. Not good. His reflection was still very bloodshot and rather scary…

Tharmeduil bathed his face again, washed his hands, and went back to his work table to look at the drawings. The ideas and thoughts that had so fired him had faded now, were just echoes, but he remembered the important things and foremost in his mind was the fact that this had all started, somehow, with Govon pushing Legolas out of the way of the fallen branch…

Following the trail of pictures left him scratching his head in surprise. All that? From pushing someone out of the way of a branch…?

No, he realised, from the branch itself…

And as he stared, everything began to fall into place…

Someone was knocking at the door, Legolas realised. No, hammering at it… he sat up abruptly.

'You don't have to knock,' he said aloud. 'I meant to say, did I not say?'

'Legolas, melleth, you said…' Govon told him sleepily, turning to slide an arm across him. 'What's the matter?'

The knocking came again.

'You're there!' Legolas said. 'You're not at the door, are you?'

'No. Not even in any kind of metaphorical sense, having just woken… would you like me to see who wants you so badly? It might make them go away…'

'No, I'd better go.' Legolas sighed, sliding out of bed and placing a brief kiss on Govon's mouth as he did so and snatching up a pair of leggings as he went to the outer room. 'All right… wait a moment, you'll wake the entire wing…'

He secured the leggings and opened the outer door.

'Tharmeduil?'

'Legolas, you have to come with me.'

'No, I don't. You need to tell me what's up and…'

'Boots, now. I've brought a hatchet…'

'And so you have… Are you well, Tharmeduil? What's up?'

'You must come with me; it might not be there if we wait and it's really important…'

Legolas sighed and pulled on his boots, finding a jacket. 'Well?'

'You'd better tell Govon you're going out. But be quick!'

'And what makes you think he's even here?'

'How stupid do you think I am?' Tharmeduil said. 'Hurry up!'

'Ai, and I thought Iauron was the annoying brother!'

'No, that would be you! Iauron's the cheeky one and I'm the lovable sibling, remember?'

Legolas returned a few minutes later, looking flushed and not at all happy to be dragged out of his rooms at just past dawn.

'So what's going on?' he asked once they were clear of the building and heading out across the early day.

'When the earth tremor hit and the tree shed a branch. You need it.'

'What for?'

'Well, some of it. You know the fëa trees?'

'Yes. I've not been to see them for decades, though. It's a Silvan tradition…'

'So, was our mother not Silvan?'

'I only meant that…'

'The fëa trees.' They reached the edge of the greensward and Tharmeduil found the fallen branch, looking up at the host tree. 'This is the one, I knew it would be… it's the golden rowan your fëa tree sprang from, Legolas. And you can say it's a coincidence, if you wish, or you can trust my insight if you will. But I've a sketch at home of you with a slice of this fallen branch and you're making something out of it…'

'Am I? What for, then? I've never had the slightest urge to be a carpenter…'

'Well, answer me something first. Did you say it, yet? Not him, you?'

'Say what? Tharmeduil, does Nestoril know you're out?'

'There are three words I can't shake… now, tomorrow, forever… did you say them?'

'Well… yes, but…'

'Then you should know what for, Legolas. If you're going to honour the Silvan tradition, you have to make him something yourself.'

Legolas stared at him.

'I only thought about it in the night,' he said. 'I only heard… and then said… those words, a few hours ago, and afterwards I thought… it sounded right, but it's so soon…'

'It's only so soon now. You won't get it done in a day, you know; it's weeks of work. I've seen it, I've drawn it. It's going to be stunning, by the way, and it's worn with so much dignity and pride, Legolas, if you could see… Ai, I should have brought the drawings to show you...'

'He wouldn't agree… would he?'

'Why would he not? This branch fell for a reason, for you to cut from it.' Tharmeduil handed him a small hatchet he'd been carrying at his belt. 'Listen, I've a picture of you taking a slice of your fëa tree's parent, and making a wristband from it for when you make vows with your fëa-mate.'

'And that makes it true, does it?'

Tharmeduil grinned. 'You'd better believe it!'


	49. Chapter 49: New Words, New Concepts

Truce.

It wasn't a word Angrisla had thought of yet, but he was living it.

Now that a little time had passed, and they had found a food source, Carenoril had softened a little towards Daedor – to the point where she no longer wanted to rend him apart, at least. And Daedor was trying to be friends with Carenoril – Angrisla heard him talking to her from time to time, suggesting they should team up, flame and flame, red and black, and he realised that Daedor, too, had come to know that a male dragon needs a female one. Daedor brought gifts of dead bats and piled them around Carenoril while she and Angrisla dozed; they were often crispy and burned from where he'd flamed them from their roosts – and Angrisla would respond by standing on his tail and blasting his cold, killing breath at them so they tumbled, still warm and raw and unspoiled, like food from the skies down on them.

And so they coexisted, and ate, and grew.

After a few weeks they had exhausted the food source in their cavern, or those bats which had survived the predation had moved elsewhere, and they began to feel hungry again, and Angrisla's yellow eyes would look greedily over Daedor's increasing girth. It was difficult now to measure how big they had grown – nowhere near the size of their dead dam, of course, but they had each easily tripled their size since discovering the cave of bats. Angrisla, being a wyrm, was longest, Carenoril biggest, Daedor plumpest – at least until the lack of food began to make itself felt again.

'Out, up,' Carenoril suggested. 'Maybe find more of food?'

'Through and see,' Daedor flamed briefly down the cavern, illuminating a tunnel at the end along which they'd never been; having food for their bellies, they had not felt the need to explore further.

'Carenoril, I go out and up,' Angrisla said. 'Daedor do what Daedor want.'

So Daedor watched as Angrisla launched himself up to the thin bright ribbon above and Carenoril followed him. It was harder now to fly, as they were heavier and bigger, but their wings were larger too and they rose more swiftly, higher and higher, with no sense of scale to guide them until another ledge enticed them to land.

Everything was lighter and brighter here, and the ribbon of bright was wider, although, they had noticed, it went through phases of bright and less bright. Now it was cycling from less to more bright once more and there was a real sense of fresh air in these regions.

This ledge was only that; a place to rest and not an entrance to another cavern, but Angrisla did spot an opening on the other side of the chasm, higher up and in an angle of rock. Without a word to Carenoril, he fell from the ledge to swoop and sweep himself upwards, hoping she would follow without prompting.

He landed like a grey shadow, folding the sails of his wings and sidling across to make space for Carenoril who had, indeed, followed after him. She shuffled herself around and made flame to light the cavern behind her.

'Ach! Is smell, bad like old dead meat.' Not that dead meat had much chance to get old around the dragonets, but once, there had been a bat that had fallen down, unnoticed, until its unpleasant and pungent aroma had led to its discovery. 'No meat see.'

'Big space. High and long?' Angrisla asked.

'Go see. Come with?'

The cavern narrowed a little as they proceeded in. It was high enough so that Carenoril could lift her head and Angrisla stretch his long neck without touching the ceiling. When Carenoril flamed upwards, they could see the reflected glint of flame against the rocky roof over. There were no bats here, although they knew too little of the natural world to wonder if this was not odd, that bats should prefer to roost at lower levels when this upper cavern would have been far more convenient. Carenoril flamed again the path ahead, and saw chunks and lumps of rockfall, broken free in the earth tremors of the weeks before.

'Bad smell more bad…'

'But meat? Smell meat gone old?' Angrisla asked. He slivered his tongue out from between his narrow jaws, snakelike, tasting the air and slinking forward. 'Dead meat here in rock. Like when poor Coloneth made last squeak under rockfall…'

Carenoril came forward and sniffed at the mound of rock and something else... it smelled very bad… just how hungry was she?

She closed her jaws around a part of the dead meat and tugged. Oh. She really was that hungry…

Gulping and her jaws snapping, lifting her head to make it easier to swallow the chunks of flesh, she devoured the carrion and ran her slim tongue over her snout.

'Is not bad-bad,' she said. 'Smell is more worse. Try, Angrisla. Taste.'

Angrisla approached and tentatively pulled at the corpse. His distaste cleared as he got beyond the smell and into the flavour; it was meat, cold and old, yes, but it made almost a mouthful in one go.

Carenoril burrowed around under the rocks, trying to free the last of the carrion. She found a little more, but part of it was unreachable for the rock fall. Still, she savoured the last bite and looked at the rocks in thought.

'Where did come from?' she asked, thinking aloud. She flared flame towards the roof of the cavern… 'Rock from up? Meat from up?'

And in the bright orange gleam, she saw a break above, a suggestion of space and darkness.

'No,' Angrisla disagreed. 'Meat under rock when fall, like Coloneth, where Coloneth down and rock fall on. Meat not fall.'

'Think more meat? Like with little, many fly foods?'

'Would like to see,' Angrisla said.

Carenoril found herself following after Angrisla into the cavern. The walls began to draw together and when they came to another opening, this one to the side and offering a wider passage, they followed it. Had they understood, they would have noticed that the surface underfoot was not natural, but had been flattened and levelled as if by use.

The smell of bad meat was stronger there, too, a scent. A fragrance, a trail.

The followed it, quietly, hungrily.

Ahead, a gap in the tunnel, bright and lit with a golden flicker like to Carenoril's flame but littler, and something went past, a quick glimpse, a flash and without thinking Angrisla lunged and snatched and something squeaked and squirmed and hissed in his jaws until he squeezed a little harder and the something stopped squeaking.

He dropped it on the ground between himself and Carenoril and looked at it.

The dead squeaking thing had four limbs, two longer and two shorter, and a rounded thing at the top where the sound had come out. It was rough and covered with bumps and lumps and it and it did not look at all appealing. But Angrisla didn't have aesthetics yet; he just had hunger.

He saw Carenoril looking at the kill and remembered how she had invited him to eat with her at the carrion find and he put a word to the strange concept.

'Share,' he said, and she yawned her mouth in a grin and together they began to eat, unaware that what they were feasting on was an orc, or that just beyond the edge of the cavern was an entire nest, ripe for plunder.

Daedor had watched his siblings go with mixed feelings. He didn't want to lose Carenoril even if he would have flamed Angrisla in an instant, if he'd thought he could get away with it.

But Carenoril had chosen to stay with the grey cold-drake and Daedor was alone. He waited for the sound of the wing beats to recede before he headed down the tunnel at the end of the cavern, flaming occasionally to light his way.

After a short while, the tunnel began to open out, the air grew cooler, fresher, and ahead there was a sense of bright glinting off the walls.

It was too much bright, so Daedor waited until his eyes had adjusted before going on and round the corner…

And sprang back.

Ahead, there was more of the brightness, so much of it everywhere. It filled above and ahead, for Daedor had broken out of the mountainside, had he know it, and below was bright until the colour came and all the smells and the scents and the growls…

The growls?

On a rocky outcrop across a narrow chasm was a huge creature. Daedor didn't know what it was; teeth, he recognised, and growls he recognised as not-friendly, and the creature seemed about leap across…

But Daedor had teeth, too, and he could leap, too, and he was very hungry now, so he leapt first, sinking his teeth into the throat of the creature, tasting and savouring the hot, sweet blood as the creature snarled and struggled and Daedor discovered what the creature was.

It was food, although it had another name, too, one he didn't know.

Warg.


	50. Chapter 50: Preparations and Promotions

For Govon and Legolas, the next few weeks flew by on wings of silver and gold. They tumbled into an easy, glorious routine, some hours each day spent apart, but more spent together.

One night, after Legolas had stayed to supper and it had grown late as they laughed and talked, Merlinith had made a suggestion.

'You can't be walking though the palace at this hour, Prince, folks will be trying to sleep! If you do not object, there is a spare bed in Govon's room which I could make up for you…?'

Govon gawped behind his sister's back, but Legolas had enough presence of mind to thank her, and say he did not mind at all, and indeed it would be far more comfortable to share a room with Govon than it had been a flet, and so it had been settled; with Merlinith's unsuspecting complicity, they were able to spend more nights together than alone in their own rooms.

'Your sister must realise by now?' Legolas said one morning early in May, nodding to where Merlinith was humming to herself at the range as she cooked breakfast.

Govon shrugged and reached for his melleth's hand across the table. 'She must be the only one in the palace who doesn't!'

'I know. I hope you don't mind it?' Just for a moment, Legolas felt anxious. For himself, it was a relief to have finally acknowledged his nature, and to realise that, instead of despising him, nobody really seemed to care. But he wondered if it might have been different, had he been a guard captain instead of a prince.

Govon shook his head, giving Legolas a slow smile that quite made the prince forget his concerns. 'Me? Mind being the acknowledged lover of the best-looking elf in Mirkwood? Why would I object to that, pe-channas-nin?'

They broke contact as Merlinith turned away from the range, bringing over scrambled eggs and hot toast.

'Make sure my brother clears his plate, Legolas!' Merlinith commanded. 'He needs to keep his strength up.'

She took the pan back to the range.

'Are you sure she doesn't know about us?' Legolas whispered.

'You're really not awake yet, are you, melleth-nin? Have you forgot I had the all-clear from the healers yesterday? I start training again this morning, returning to duty in two days. There's barely three weeks before we ride out with the court.'

'Of course. I might see you at the training ground – Father's insisting all of us get some practice in, Arveldir and Nestoril included. Tharmeduil's looking forward to it; he's fed up with keeping to his rooms so much.'

'I'll look out for you, then. What will you be working on?'

'Short bow, mostly. Although I might get my lhang out later.'

'Sounds like a plan to me. Don't tire yourself out with weapons practice first, though.'

Govon's return to duty changed their routine, of course; he was at the barracks for eight hours each day, fitness training with the rest of the convalescing warriors under Captain Bregon for a couple of hours in the morning, a strategy session before the day meal, and further weapons and fitness work in the afternoon. One day, word came that when possible the day meal would be taken out-of-doors, to simulate travelling conditions and, to further acclimatise the honour guard, they would be joined on the greensward by some or other of the court, so they could acclimatise themselves to the persons whom they would be protecting, also.

Whose idea this had been was never discovered, but Legolas and Govon both thanked the Valar for it. Tharmeduil, also, for it got him out of his rooms where he had begun to feel slightly trammelled in after so many weeks. Iauron was an occasional visitor, but Nestoril attended whenever Tharmeduil did, and even Lord Arveldir joined them a few times. These day-meal picnics often extended beyond the regulation hour's break, but Bregon was an easy task-master as long as standards were maintained and, as the royals often expressed a wish to take in some target practice while they were near the training ground, frequently ended in some good-natured challenges between his command and the court. It seemed the skill of his warriors improved no end when they were taunted about being outshot by Healer Nestoril.

About a week after Govon had returned to duty, Legolas was waiting for him to come home – that was how Govon spoke of it now, coming home, except tonight he was late, and Legolas had been told that he and Govon were expected at High Table again.

Legolas paced. It was not like Govon to be late… could there have been a mix-up, had he gone to his family chambers instead? But they had planned only at the day meal… he was being, he knew, a pe-channas, as Govon called him, always saying it with teasing affection, but summons from Adar had thrown him.

A familiar step outside and the prince felt his heart lift; he opened the door to find Govon standing there looking very bemused.

'What is it, melleth? Is all well with you?'

Govon nodded and pulled him into a hug.

'News,' he said.

'Good or bad?'

'Good… I have had a promotion…'

'Ah, but that is excellent! I am pleased for you. And, melleth, it may explain why we are summoned to the High Table tonight… will you bathe first? I know you like to bathe away the day's hard work, but if you don't hurry, you'll have to go to supper smelling like… well, like a hard-working warrior… which I do not mind, melleth, but…'

'Well, join me. Then when we're both late and smelling of the same soap, none will dare question us.'

'Tell me more of your promotion?' Legolas asked, heading to the bathing room and shedding clothes along the way.

'Well, you know how we are ranked?'

'Of course.' Legolas got into the heated water, watching as Govon began to efficiently rid himself of his training uniform; his boots were already off, standing neatly at the side of the doorway. 'Not that it makes any sense; four ranks of warrior before sergeant and lieutenant, four degrees of captain, then three of generals, of which Rawon is the lowest level and yet is known as Over-Captain…'

Govon lowered himself into the water with a sigh.

'You're bruised, melleth!' Legolas exclaimed. 'Your shoulder.'

'I was in a bout of open-hand with Thiriston…'

'That's hardly a fair fight!'

'I know… when will they give me someone worthy of a challenge? No – despite Thiriston being the nearest thing we have to a cave troll, I bested him. But I had to roll to throw him and mistimed the fall.'

'Your promotion, then? Come, tell?'

'From first-level directly to third-level captain; I thought there was a mistake, but Esgaron and Bregon explained why… and so I'm late as there is more to it…'

Legolas unfastened Govon's braids and cradled him against his chest, gently pouring water through his hair.

'Go on?' Legolas said, reaching for the cleansing mixture and beginning to work it into Govan's scalp with strong fingers.

'Bregon also has a promotion to bring him level with Esgaron, who provides the regulars.' His voice grew lazy as he unwound under his melleth's ministrations. 'As well as they, and the honour guard, there is to be a Court Guard, six warriors in total. Hador and Tegolon, and myself. The others are Bregon's men; Tinuon, and Thiriston – so you see why I had to best him today – with Canadion…'

Legolas laughed. 'Ai, those two again! And Tinuon brought us together, although I'm not sure you were well enough to take notice at the time…'

'No.' Govon fell silent for a moment before continuing. 'But I always knew.'

'Knew what?' Legolas asked, rinsing the suds away, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken.

'When it was you tending me. Even when I grew so ill I was blinded and numb from the poison, I could tell if it was one of the others, or if it was you. I felt my fëa stir, whenever your hands turned me, or lifted me to drink. The first night, when I was so lost in the pain and I faltered, your fëa was a light to mine.'

Legolas kept rinsing. He thought about the slice of wood from the golden rowan, about the weeks he had spent working it into a wristband without knowing whether he would ever have the will or the courage or the certainty to offer it. Suddenly, he felt a little more sure.

'You are the only one I feared for,' Legolas said. 'Apart from my family, there is nobody I have ever worried about, as I worried about you that night. Not even… well.'

Govon twisted around in the water. This was the first time that Legolas had even hinted about a former lover, and although he didn't really wish to know, still, he had to ask.

'Not even…?'

'It does not matter, melleth-nin. It has not mattered for a long time.'

'It does not sound as if it does not matter. Besides, well, how old are we both? Would it not be a surprise if we neither of us had a past?'

'I suppose. There was only one who was ever anything, but it was over a very long time ago. I never once feared for him, I never once felt my fëa tug towards him… and I am glad, for that means what I have with you, now, is more true, and more right.' He finished rinsing and gathered Govon's hair to squeeze the excess water from it. 'There. Done.'

'I wish we could linger.'

'As do I.' Legolas gave Govon a gentle hug before releasing him and making for the edge of the pool. 'So, you will be part of the Court Guard. What is it for?'

'For? Melleth, it is to guard the court. Your personal bodyguard, if you will.'

'Indeed?' Legolas grinned and found towels. 'How personal? And who gets to choose?'

Govon laughed, reluctantly exiting the bath and accepting a towel. 'With luck, your honoured father will get Canadion.'

'Ha! As long as I do not! We are distant cousins, I know, but from his behaviour at times, not distant enough, I think…'

They got to table just in time, standing behind their seats and acknowledging the other guests; the five others of the planned Court Guard, Legolas' brothers along with Nestoril and Arveldir.

Thranduil, of course, was last to arrive, sweeping in with swift dignity and seating himself, arranging his formal robes about him before gesturing for the rest to sit.

Tonight, at least, Govon was not placed next to the king, although everyone was seated closely enough for conversation, and with Legolas on one side and Healer Nestoril on the other, the meal passed him pleasantly by. The lesser tables in the feasting hall were no fuller than average; this was not a formal dinner, then, with any major announcements planned.

'I understand that all of you here tonight have been chosen for the Court Guard,' Thranduil began, directing his comments to Hador, who was next to him.

The Lieutenant hastily swallowed to clear his mouth and nodded.

'Yes, my king. It is an honour indeed.'

'You may think otherwise once you have stood night-watch outside my sons' pavilion. Iauron snores.'

'Adar!' Iauron protested. 'That was only when I had the head-cold once!'

'Ah. Well, perhaps it is one of the others… Captain Govon, would you know whether it might be my youngest son?'

Govon smiled swiftly. 'Indeed, I could not say. When we shared a flet together, I was too ill to be aware of the others around me.'

'Well said, Govon!' Nestoril whispered, and claimed his attention so that the king had to leave him alone. 'So, Captain, how is your training going?'

'Well, I think; I'm pretty much back up to my fighting strength again.'

'Then we must have that sparring match we talked of,' Thranduil said. 'I will send word.'

'I'll look forward to it, my king.'

'One or two things I wanted to say to you all. Reports from the scouts are coming in and all is in train for our departure in two weeks' time. I have heard much of your various talents on the field and I am sure our safety is secure with you in attendance. The only thing that has not been announced is who your Captain will be.'

'But… is it not to be Commander Bregon?' Tinuon said.

'We had thought to serve under Captain Esgaron,' Hador said. 'Is this not so?'

'No, indeed, one of your own will captain you. Your ranking officer is Captain – Senior Captain Govon, who will be known as the Commander of the Court Guard for the duration of the expedition.' He turned to Govon with a smile. 'Both High Captains Bregon and Esgaron put your name forward to Over-Captain Rawon. Congratulations.'


	51. Chapter 51: Traditionalist

As Captain of the Court Guard, Govon's days were fuller than ever; as well as his own training, he had to oversee his new command and take advice from Bregon and Esgaron concerning his new duties.

One upside was that, since his days now needed to start earlier, and citing his reluctance to disturb his sister when leaving for work each morning, he had the reason he needed to move out of the family chambers without hurting her feelings.

'For the duration of my training, and the expedition,' he'd said. 'Besides, you're always complaining about my weapons chest being in the way,' and Merlinith had grudgingly accepted it.

Perhaps she assumed he would be moving in to the barracks, or perhaps she was finally starting to realise that Legolas was more than simply a friend, but she never actually asked Govon where he would be living.

'As long as you let me make supper some nights for you, you and your friend, I suppose it will be all right,' was all she had said on the matter.

So Govon was working harder and training more and adjusting to his new command, each day full and interesting, and at the end of it the knowledge he was going home to Legolas, an arrangement that suited them both admirably.

One morning a few days before they were due to depart for the meeting with Imladris and just as a silken, silver dawn lit the skies, he was woken by a repeated, insistent knocking at the door.

Legolas stirred in his arms, waking, calling out that he was on his way, but when the prince finally left the bed to investigate, the knocking had ceased and he returned with a folded note and a surprised expression.

'Melleth, it's for you.'

Govon took the note and read it. 'Ha! I knew this morning would come! His majesty King Thranduil Oropherion requires my attendance at the sparring chambers before the seventh hour. I am to bring my own weapons.'

'I had hoped he would forget,' Legolas said as Govon began to rummage around in his weapons chest.

'Can it be that I know your father better than you do?' Govon asked, glancing up with a smile. 'He knew to send here for me, too, and informs me that my captains have been told I will not attend my duties this morning by royal request.'

He found what he was looking for; a twin-scabbarded sword belt and the weapons to go with them.

'Have you the sandalwood, Legolas?'

'Really, melleth-nin? Now?'

'As you've noted yourself, the fragrance lingers everywhere… but if I mix it with the honing oil, I can at least claim it's for care of my weapons, so to speak!'

He caught the oil, unsheathed the swords and wiped them over quickly.

'Let me help with your hair,' Legolas said, standing behind Govon and quickly pulling the top section of hair back, dividing it into three parts he could plait to keep Govon's face free from falling strands. 'Father never braids; he sometimes catches his hair back to fight, but often he uses it as a distraction. And he uses his person, also; he fights stripped to the waist, after the manner of the old heroes.'

'Thank you, melleth. We've heard the tales, on the practice ground. I'm lucky Bregon's been sparring with me of late, too.' He dressed swiftly in his training uniform and turned to give Legolas a hot, longing kiss. 'I'll be back to put that sandalwood to better use before you know it,' he said.

Thranduil disrobed slowly, handing each item of clothing to Arveldir with dignity and ceremony. The black and silver robes of office, the gold and grey long coat, the silver jerkin.

'My king, is this… necessary?' Arveldir asked. 'Wise' had been the first word to mind, but he had shied away from it. But really, Thranduil could have walked from his throne room through the private corridors in just his shirt and breeches, had he so wished.

'Yes, it is.' Thranduil removed his shirt and handed it over. 'This is part of my mental preparation.'

'I beg pardon.' Arveldir bowed and carried the king's raiment to lay the clothing on top of a chest near the entrance.

'See if Govon is here yet. Inform him I am preparing, but allow him in.'

'As my king commands.'

Legolas sat on the edge of the bed staring at the open weapons chest. The scent of sandalwood and honing oil filled the room with their dual message of love and strife…

…Adar never lost these sparring contests, it was a matter of pride to him. True, sometimes the twin-sword made for exhibition duels rather than fights, but he was obscurely worried… his adar and his melleth. He knew who he wanted to win; he just hoped his father never found out. Of course, there would be no witnesses, and his father was generally magnanimous in victory. But the idea of Govon being patronised by Adar galled him.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door and Tharmeduil's voice.

'Hurry up! You'll miss it!'

'Miss what?' Legolas scrambled into clothes, and threw the door open to find, not only Tharmeduil, but Nestoril and Iauron there as well.

'The fight! Don't you want to watch?'

'Of course I do! But I can't. We might get into the throne room and as far as the side entrance of the sparring room, but…'

'Nestoril has a plan,' Tharmeduil said. 'Get your boots, hurry up!'

Bewildered, Legolas shook his head but found his footwear while Nestoril explained.

'There is an observation chamber. Long ago, the kings would watch their warriors sparring without their knowledge. It is largely ignored now, as your father prefers, shall we say, a more hands-on way of assessing his warriors? Follow me.'

She headed towards the throne room and down a narrow corridor at the side to a doorway that led to a stair. At the top, a short passage led to a door outside which she stopped.

'We must keep our voices down, else they might hear and be distracted.' She took a key from her pocket and smiled. 'In case of emergency, the Healer-in-Charge has keys to all the rooms in the palace. Even yours, Iauron, so you had better make sure you tidy up!'

The door opened quietly and Nestoril led them inside. The chamber looked as if it had been cleaned recently; although a little dust softened the ledges, the floor was swept and the seats clean, but all eyes were drawn to the viewing window and the sparring circle in the chamber beneath.

In the centre of the circle, Thranduil was warming up, stripped to the waist and his long hair shining and loose and flying. He was spinning and turning, using his two matched swords as balance and counter-balance as he worked.

'Scrawny,' Iauron whispered.

'Lean,' Nestoril corrected. 'Lean and honed and tight and taught and…' She flushed as three sets of eyes looked at her in astonishment. 'Just as a king should be,' she added.

A creak and a click from below, and the door opened to admit the king's opponent.

Everyone stared.

Legolas found his face lifting into a delighted smile while, at his side, Nestoril swallowed.

'Oh, my!' she said. 'I hope you don't let him go out looking like that in public, Legolas?'

'Ai, by the Valar, Nestoril! Had I seen him looking like that, I would never let him go out at all!'

Somewhere between leaving Legolas and arriving at the sparring chamber, Govon had changed. His uniform was gone and he was barefoot. He was naked apart from his double sword belt and a short leather kilt that wrapped and crossed across his hips, leaving his lower abdomen bare.

And then there was the body paint.

The scar on his shoulder was ringed with green and blue, edged with ochre triangles representing arrowheads circling it, indicating how he'd gained the mark. The arc of scarring over his left hip was visible, the beginning and end of it hidden beneath the bands of the kilt, but this old injury, too, was highlighted in blue and green and ochre and went under the waistband, and Legolas found himself hoping the paint was edible so that he could explore the rest of the artwork with his tongue.

Govon bowed, displaying more green and blue and ochre on his back; the exit wound for the arrow, a crosshatching of colours at his right side where Govon had once broken ribs in battle. As he straightened up from the bow, his hair swung away from his upper arms, and revealing something that made Nestoril gasp and Legolas stare, his heart thudding.

Govon had painted two bands across his biceps in green and ochre, and even from here it was obvious to see that the blue script between the bands spelled out Legolas' name.

'Bit of a traditionalist, your sweetheart, isn't he? Iauron muttered. 'Mind you, dressed like that, even I can see the attraction…'

'He's mine!' Legolas hissed. 'Keep to your female partners, Iauron, or I'll have your liver on a stick!'

Thranduil finally finished his warm-up and looked Govon over.

'I thought you said your father was a purist, Govon?'

'A Silvan purist, my king.'

'Decorating your battle-scars, this I understand,' Thranduil said, raising a sword to point at the band of paints on Govon's upper arm, the tip coming to rest rock-steady a hair's breadth from the skin. 'But this tradition is not known to me.'

'It is the name of my fëa-mate, that my body may be returned to him in honour, should I die in battle,' Govon said. 'A precaution only.'

'I am pleased to hear you do not expect to die today,' Thranduil said. 'But I also hope you do not expect to win.'

'I think he already has,' Nestoril whispered to Legolas, who was too stunned to answer, still taking in the fact that Govon had acknowledged him his fëa-mate to his father.

Govon gathered himself, hands across his body on his sword hilts. He leapt into the air, spinning as he drew the blades and landing to face the king on one knee, the swords crossed before him in salute for a moment before he rose

Thranduil allowed himself a small smile. This was promising to be very different from the formal dance of postures and form he and Bregon had performed; Govon was announcing himself as a true opponent… so this Captain dared claim Legolas as his fëa-mate, would he? Briefly Thranduil wondered if Legolas knew it… the temerity of this one, though, turning up in war-paint and scars and with so much flesh on show…

The king crossed his own blades in salute and then whirled into action. The twin swords flashed and blurred, but Govon met stroke for stroke against the double assault of Thranduil's swords with but one of his own weapons, the other wheeling round in a swipe Thranduil almost didn't see until it was too late, only just managing to block. He arced his swords out, seeking space to recover while Govon sought to get through the defence, always pressing, prodding, weaving his blades, apart and together, a strange, cool light in his eyes that Tharanduil mistook for dispassion at first. But as the bout continued, Govon's blades seeking him over and under and around his guard, and as sweat made runnels and streaks in the blue and green and ochre body paint, the king realised it wasn't dispassion; it was determination.

What? Was this wild wood-elf actually challenging him?

In a way, Thranduil was pleased that Govon would brave his king's wrath and bring his best efforts to the bout (…time to step out of reach of the testing, teasing blades, to use the weight of the swords to sweep him round and give him a few seconds respite…) but it annoyed him also, that Govon had not simply assumed the king would have the victory.

'I feel I should warn you, Govon, I do not intend to lose,' Thranduil said, redoubling his efforts and capturing both his opponent's blades between his own in a classic basket-weave ploy.

'Ah, but, my king, I came with the intention of winning.' Govon smiled over the braided sword blades, reminding Thranduil more of a hunting warg than an elf. 'There is a difference between the two perspectives.'

Thranduil's control over Govon's blades held, and he pushed home his advantage, silver-steel eyes locked on Govon's feral hazel glare as the king pushed forwards and Govon reluctantly gave way, forced down onto one knee.

'Indeed there is, Captain. But which of us has the upper hand now, do you think?'

Up in the observation chamber, Nestoril covered her mouth with her hands to stop a squeal of excitement. Iauron was muttering to himself, almost living the fight. Legolas could barely watch, could not tear his eyes away from his lover, anguish and pride swamping him.

So caught up in the bout were they that they didn't realise they were no longer alone until a soft, known voice spoke from behind them.

'What is going on in here?'

Tharmeduil, less mesmerised by a fight of which he already knew the outcome, recovered first. 'Hello, Lord Arveldir. We're watching the fight; it's really rather good, isn't it?'

'That depends who you want to win, I think,' the advisor said drily.

Thranduil pushed down against Govon's blades, wanting to teach him a lesson, wanting to show him who was master here; Govon held him back, refusing to give any more ground despite increasing pressure on every muscle and sinew of his arms and wrists, his powerful thighs bracing against the strain, his determination holding out over the pain.

But very slowly, the rough sand of the practice circle grating and sliding painfully against his grounded knee, he was pushed fractionally back.

The king's eyes held triumph in them, his mouth lifting in a small smile of victory. There could be no recovery now.

'You have fought well,' he said. 'We can call it a draw, if you like.'

'My king is generous,' Govon replied, his mind racing, ticking through his father's lessons… there was something… it wasn't possible with lhaing, or with lhaing against straight blades; the curve of the cutlass diluted the effect…

But straight blades against straight…

Govon took a breath in, filling himself up with air, breathed out…

…and twisted his left blade edgeways on to Thranduil's, releasing the lock on it. As the pressure eased on his right-hand sword, he swept it free, once more flattening the left blade to keep the king's weapons engaged as he rolled to the side, pulling Thranduil's swords with him so that the king lost his balance and fell forwards, sprawling on his royal face on the rough sand of the sparring circle, his swords skittering and ringing out of his grasp. He felt a cold, sharp point at the back of his neck.

'Now we can call it a draw, I think,' Govon said.

Nestoril jumped up and down with glee; Legolas found he was being pummelled and congratulated by both his brothers, as if it was solely his doing that Govon had won. In his imagination, he vaulted over the ledge down into the practice room and caught Govon in his arms…

But the reality was that none of them were supposed to be here.

Below, Govon removed the sword point from Thranduil's neck and bent to offer his hand to help the king to his feet.

'I apologise, your majesty,' he said. 'But at least you know that I am able to defend you at need.'

'Indeed.' Thranduil accepted the hand, brushing himself off and trying to regain his dignity. 'You truly fought admirably and, it must be admitted, you won.'

He eyed Govon thoughtfully for a moment before swinging away to collect his weapons. 'My son has chosen well, I think. But understand this…' The tips of both swords were suddenly at Govon's throat, '…if you harm him, if you hurt him, there will not be warrior paint enough in all of Mirkwood to decorate the scars I will bless you with!'

'King Thranduil,' Govon said softly. 'I would sacrifice my life to protect you and any of your family. But for Legolas, I would sacrifice my fëa.'

'Indeed?' said the king, lowering the swords. 'And when were you going to make him aware of that fact?'

Govon grinned and bowed.

'If my king will excuse me,' he said, 'and since by your thoughtfulness I have the rest of the morning off, now is probably as good a time as ever.'


	52. Chapter 52: An Unreliable Witness?

Elrond's eyebrows raised so high they almost tangled in his hairline.

'Would you please repeat that?' he asked his advisor.

Erestor tried not to sigh. He pushed aside the carefully-crocheted coaster set – really, the sooner Arwen moved on to something useful like blacksmithing, the better – and slid the sheaf of scouts' reports closer to his lord.

'Flashes of fire in the sky some fifty miles south of the confluence of the Langwell and the Greylin towards the mountains.'

'Is there no chance it is connected with the recent earth tremors?'

'It seems unlikely. The last aftershock was several weeks since; the sighting of flame was less than a week ago; the scout rode with all haste to get the report here swiftly.'

'I can only think of one reason for there to be flames in the sky, Erestor, and I am not thinking of Mithrandir's party fireworks now.'

'You think there are dragons, still? My lord, there has been nothing heard of them for centuries; they must all be gone by now, surely?'

Elrond shook his head. 'I fear the time of the dragons is not quite over… still. Did the scout himself witness the flame?'

'No, indeed. He had reached the edge of his allotted trails when he came across one of those poor lost wanderers we see from time to time…' Erestor sighed. 'Why these wretches continue to wander when there are sanctuaries such as Imladris just waiting to welcome them…'

'Sometimes people believe they do not deserve help. And sometimes, it is true. But we cannot force these vagabond wayfarers to take sanctuary amongst us… So. I must say, then, hardly the most reliable of witnesses. What of matters our scouts have seen for themselves?'

'The warg population seems to have been having a hard time of it…'

'Pity…'

The sarcasm in Elrond's tone meat it was Erestor's turn to raise an eyebrow, which he did less magnificently, since his hair line had not receded nearly so far as to make it quite as dramatic as his lord's.

'…reports directly from our scouts say there are bodily remains of wargs – mostly bones but not many of them – strewn through the mountains near the rising of the Rhimdath… the scouts spoke with the party send to rebuild the pack bridge across the Langflood - and they reported no flame in the sky. Moreover, orc activity is much reduced – there are no rumours of them in the region, although we had suspected a nest had become established in the mountains…'

'Perhaps they and the wargs killed each other? Those foul folk cannot even keep their allies for long. Strange portents indeed. But with regard to the eyot… I understand some of the Mirkwood contingent is there?'

'As was suggested by King Thranduil's advisor, yes, their bridge detail remains and together with our party are putting in place such structures as may be required.'

'To recap, then; a wandering vagabond imagines fire in the sky – one wonders if he saw smoke on the water, also…'

'My lord?'

Elrond waved a hand. 'Before your time. Orc activity is minimal, warg numbers are reduced, the bridge is built and supplies are in place. Our people and Thranduil's people have not yet enacted another kinslaying… so why do I wish I had an excuse to call off this ridiculous travesty…?'

Erestor cleared his throat.

'You mean this most advantageous and propitious union between Imladris and Mirkwood, my lord?'

'Yes. That.'

'Perhaps no father really ever wishes for his daughter's marriage,' Erestor said.

'It is too late to back out, whatever my wishes.' Elrond exhaled heavily. 'By the time any message reached Mirkwood now, the deputation will already have left. No, I am afraid we are committed.'

'Indeed my lord. It will be good for lady Arwen to properly meet her potential in-laws… I suppose, if all goes accordingly, she will eventually begin her married life in Mirkwood?'

'Yes.' Elrond brightened. 'We must ensure she's properly aware of the fact.'

'My lord, I must confess I do not fully understand your reluctance…'

'No. No, nor do I, not really. For who else is there who is suitable? It is just difficult to see Arwen and Iaruon as a happily married couple. Still. We ride tomorrow. Order everything so we can be off after the breakfast hour… expect to be underway by noon. If anyone needs me before dinner tonight, I'll be speaking with the healers.'

'Ah. Have you the headache, my lord?'

'Usually, these days.'

Elrond waited for his advisor to leave, organising his thoughts as he organised his desk, moving aside random pieces of brightly-coloured crochet… well, if nothing more, it would be entertaining to see how King Thranduil would react to Arwen's current work-in-progress; she had written to Iauron via messenger hawk to enquire the name of Thranduil's elk and the size of its antlers and was presently crafting a multihued, personalised headset-warmer for the beast.

And, really, it wasn't that he disliked the notion of Arwen and Iauron. Given the right wife, and the right father-in-law, the prince would shape up to be a reasonable husband. Or else.

No. it was more that there was a sense of unfinished business there, business he had hoped would not need revisiting. He was growing acutely aware, however, that someone, somewhere would say something to bring it up again.

Elrond was rather afraid it might even be he.

It had seemed like such a good idea, at the time. Sensible. His sons reacting badly to the loss of their mother, and who was there here of their own age for them to talk to? Not really anyone who might offer alternative pastimes to heading off slaughtering orcs. So he had sent a tentative invitation to Mirkwood; would King Thranduil perhaps send his sons on a visit and maybe then receive his sons in return? An exchange, beneficial to both their houses, each seeing the challenges faced by the other in the spirit of mutual cooperation and understanding. Granted, the sons of King Thranduil and his own boys weren't the same age, not really. But they were of the same generation and roughly at the same place in their lives at least.

Thranduil had not been enthusiastic. He was unable to spare all three of his sons, he said; only one would make the trip, and in the finish, it had been his youngest who had arrived with a handful of escort riders, intending to stay for three months. He'd seemed to get on well with Elladan and Elrohir, and if at first they rode out after orcs as was their wont with the prince adding his bow to their own weapons, soon they tired of that and began exploring around, showing the Mirkwood prince the gentler lands to the west of Imladris instead. Prince Legolas became familiar, accepted, liked, even, and at the end of three months, the escort returned to Mirkwood without their prince, messenger hawks having sent for permission and brought it back for Legolas to extend his visit. Three months, after all, is no time at all when you have forever and a visit of a year seemed like a much more realistic timescale to make certain the sons of Elrond were back on the right track.

So there were joyful songs in the Hall of Fire again, and laughter began to be heard around Imladris once more, and if Elrond noticed Arwen looking at Legolas under her eyelashes, he also saw that Legolas either didn't see, or didn't care.

It took him a while to realise why. And, perhaps, if he hadn't realised, if others of his household hadn't realised, then things would not have fallen out the way they had. But the upshot if it was that when Prince Legolas had finally returned home, there was no reciprocal invitation to Elladan and Elrohir.

Elrond sighed. All that was long ago, now. Who would care about such ancient history? He could have wished, however, that the Mirkwood healer had not contacted his own healer for advice; acknowledged as it was as a centre for learning and healing, Imladris could not refuse to help and, as the master of lore and healing, that meant Elrond could not refuse to help either.

He made his way to the healing rooms and presented himself to the healer on duty.

'Is Healer Feril available?' he asked. 'I want to go over details for the journey with her.'

'Yes, Lord Elrond. Will you wait in the library while I seek her?'

Elrond nodded and allowed the healer to open the door for him. The library attached to the healer's wing was much smaller than the main one, but it made sense to keep the healing books and scrolls where they were most needed. He noticed a small stack of books on one of the desks; volumes on ancient, mystical practices, one or two about field medicine… it looked as if Healer Feril was ahead with her preparations.

He turned the pages of the uppermost volume idly until he heard the door behind him click open.

'You wanted me, Lord Elrond?'

He turned, a smile of reassurance on his face.

'Yes, Feril. I wanted to make sure you were ready for the trip?' he said.

'Indeed; I would say I was looking forward to it, but it seems inappropriate. Word from my friend suggests that the prince is still suffering occasional attacks, but they seem to be not excessively severe. She notes that it appears his insight is quite accurate in some matters… it intrigues me.'

'Indeed, for those without foresight it can be seen as appealing. The reality can be otherwise.' He gestured for her to sit and himself took a seat. 'Are you travelled at all, Feril?'

'A little. I have crossed the mountains in winter, and so I know our trip is not going to be like a stroll down the Bruinen, my lord. But I am used to walking and riding in hard weather and delivering healing at the end of it.'

'I'm pleased to hear it. Are you seeking to bring these volumes with you?'

'Oh, I would not presume… I have made copious notes, however.'

'Good.' Elrond got to his feet and smiled again. 'I'll see you in the morning, then. I go now to make sure the Lady Arwen is fully prepared.'

He found his daughter in the throes of packing and humming to herself, looking at him with joyful eyes.

'Oh, father! It's so exciting! I am really looking forward to seeing Belegornor again – even if he is Prince Iauron!'

'I am pleased to hear it, daughter, for otherwise we would be going to great trouble – and putting Mirkwood to great trouble, too – for no reason.' He looked around her room with concern. There were three open trunks all in various stages of fullness. 'Arwen… you do know you can't bring all this?'

'No? But I do not know what Iauron will like me in…'

'Well, Belegornor didn't seem to mind, did he?'

'…no…'

'So, for the sake of our poor horses, take your riding gear and two or three nice dresses if you like; there will only be two formal meetings where you and Iauron will be present at the same time. One trunk is all we can manage. And that includes your wonderful handcrafted gifts, I'm afraid.'

'But…'

'Arwen! Think of the horses!'


	53. Chapter 53: The Last Lamp Uncovered

Thranduil was busy. He had the rest of the day and tomorrow to make sure all was ready and there were only a few hours left of today. The bridge was rebuilt, the extra levels and staffing added to the flets along the way as he had ordered, all the troops in the Honour Guard were fit, although one or two were perhaps not at their peak. Supply lines were in order, extra stores stashed along the route…

But not all the reports were good. It had taken the best efforts of three troops to keep the spiders to the south of the road, and the warriors needed constant reinforcement and support just to hold them there… were the arachnids to push through, at the wrong time, it could be disastrous…

Still, there seemed to be no option but to continue. Iaruon was keen and, his oldest son aside, his second son needed help and if Elrond had any advice he could possibly offer, Thranduil was prepared to swallow his pride until it choked him if necessary.

Not that Elrond knew that, of course.

Strictly speaking, if either of their two houses should be offended with the other, it was Imladris with Mirkwood. For when Legolas had returned from his extended stay some decades ago, Elrond's sons should have been invited to return with him. And yet his son had returned alone, unaccompanied by either son of Elrond or by any guard and in poor spirits to say the least. So a formal invitation had not been forthcoming and, indeed, Thranduil had not even contacted Imladris to thank Elrond for his hospitality towards his son. It had seemed… inappropriate, given that Legolas had walked around the palace for months like a ghost of himself.

If it had only been Iaruon's infatuation with Arwen, he could have got out of this awkward situation. But Nestoril's well-meaning message to her healing friend at Imladris had meant that Thranduil felt unable to back out of this awkward political meeting. For his son, though – for any of his sons' wellbeing and happiness, even Iauron's – he would have eventually capitulated.

He looked up as a soft knocking came at his door. Who now? What now?

'It's late. What do you want?'

Legolas entered the room and came to a halt just the other side of his desk.

'Yes, it's late, Adar, but you're still working anyway.'

'We leave for Imladris the morning after next; of course I am still working, there are endless things to attend to…'

'We don't all have to go. I could stay, if you wanted.'

'No. Iauron and I must attend, and Elrond has offered to cast his healing eye over Tharmeduil. If you are left behind, it will look like a slight to you and I do not want anyone thinking you have at all offended or disappointed me…'

'That's kind of you, father.'

'Did you want something, Legolas?' the king prompted.

Legolas dared to sit on the edge of his father's desk.

'I'm making vows with Govon tonight…'

Thranduil looked up and drew breath to speak, although he didn't know if he was on the point of protest or outrage or just general scolding, but Legolas went on before he could release his voice and so discover for himself just what his own feelings were on the matter.

'…and I would like for you to be there, if you could. It will be in the grove of fëa trees in two hours. Nestoril has offered herself as witness. I thought of asking you, father, but Govon pointed out that you might be offended.'

'Now, and why would Govon possibly think that?'

'Well, he said that setting aside the issue of whether or not you like him or approve of us, you could feel we were trying to make you accept us, or make it look to the people that you approve and so be giving them a message that they'd better approve too, or else… and he said none of that was… oh.' Legolas broke off, seeing his father eyeing him with impatience. 'I thought you meant it. Well. You're busy, I can see, so if you can't spare the time, I…'

'Legolas. Ion-nin… You're certain about this?'

'Of course, Adar.'

'But to make so large a commitment in so small a way… would you not wait until we return from our parley with Imladris? We could then mark the occasion properly, as befits your status and show that I do not disapprove…'

'Adar?' Legolas stared at his father. 'You approve of Govon and I?'

Tharnduil held his gaze, but the king's mask receded and it was the father looking out. 'No, my son, I said I did not disapprove. There is a difference in the two perspectives; Govon said something similar this morning while we were sparring. He fights with great determination, Legolas. Shall we, then, defer until our return when we can organise a real celebration?'

'Father, do not think me ungrateful, but it has to be now. Do you not see? Once we return, all would be overshadowed by Iauron's plans, and while that is only right and fitting, it would make my vows to Govon look like an afterthought. And I do not want that, Adar, his fëa does not deserve that. I want to honour him, I want matters settled between us before we ride to meet Imladris.'

'I understand. Have you had time, at least, to find a proper token? For I think there should be something our silversmiths can do…'

Legolas shook his head. 'Govon is Silvan, and I am following his tradition in this, that the token be something handmade. I… I have carved something for him…'

'Do you have it with you?' Thranduil asked, suddenly interested. 'May I see?'

'Yes, of course.'

Legolas reached inside his tunic and pulled forth a small leather pouch, shaking out the contents for Thranduil to examine. The king lifted it carefully.

It was a band, as was tradition for a warrior, and it was carved from a single ring of wood into intricate, strong links. Legolas had made it so that it could be tightened to wear at the wrist, or adjusted to ride above the elbow and so not get in the way. Thranduil marvelled at it.

'I did not realise any of my sons could make such fine work, Legolas. What wood is it?'

'Golden rowan. A bough fell from the tree of which my fëa tree is a scion; it felt like a gift. I have worked on it since I first realised he was the one my fëa needed.'

'It must have taken great courage to acknowledge that, Legolas. I find I am proud of you for that at least. No, I really am, even though I find it… difficult.' Thranduil sighed as he passed the token back to Legolas. 'Do not forget I was born into the First Age, and in those times such pairings were considered something of necessity, when warriors went to war, not something to be freely sought. Especially afterwards, with so many ellith and so few ellyn… But the world has changed, and we cannot always remain unchanging amongst it.' He smiled suddenly. 'Go and get ready for your avowing, ion-nin. Leave me to finish my work.'

'Govon!' Merlinith's voice was shocked. 'You mean to say, all those nights when he stayed here… in the spare bed… in your chamber…'

Ah. So she hadn't realised, then.

'What can I say, 'lin? We have never hidden what we are from you, although we have not forced you to see it either…'

'But… he is a prince!'

'And so? To me he was light in a very dark place, and I am sure I would have died had he not been my constant voice through the pain of the poison! I did not know he was a prince when my fëa found his, while he knew everything I was and still he wanted me.'

'But…'

'I can see this is upsetting, and I am sorry. But I did not tell you in order to distress you; it was only this morning, after I sparred with the king that Legolas sought me and said, we should settle things between us now, and so I need a token for him and I have an hour left to make one! I need your help, 'lin,' Govon shrugged helplessly. 'It is our own tradition, but I never thought I would need to learn how to craft an armband…'

Merlinith shook her head to clear it. The fact was, that she had got used to the prince being around so much she had started to forget he was a royal Sindar. She had seen the friendship between him and her brother and had thought nothing more of it except that maybe the prince might look at her with interested eyes… but the weeks had passed and that thought faded, too. Still, the idea of her little brother and a prince…

She sighed. The fëa wants what it wants, and the fëa always knows, and Govon was looking at her with such appeal and, well, Legolas did have two brothers…

'There is no time to carve anything, except for a very rough band that you could work on later, so unless there is something in the memory trunk you want to re-use…'

'No.' Govon shook his head; the idea of using an old token, even one of great beauty and worth, was wrong. 'All have been used on traditional pairings. It would not be fitting either to the memories of our parents or our foreparents or to the nature of my love. I must him make something. I want to make him something.'

'Well, you can form a braid, can you not?'

'Of course!'

'I remember tales of the old times, when our people lived in fear and danger, and vows were made in haste and need. Warriors always had bowstrings and leather thonging as part of their weapons kit; maids always had their long hair and braid fastenings…'

'Yes! Here is something I can make that is personal and special and recognises the otherness of our connection.'

'So, if you take bowstring and leather stringing and braid them together…'

'And if you were to cut some hair from my head, a few strands from here and there where I don't braid, where it grows more thickly… Merlinith, that would be perfect…'

'Hair? Like the maids would use?'

'And bowstring and leather, like the warriors. It could not be better.'

Merlinith sighed to herself. Perhaps to Govon it could not be better, but it suddenly felt as if she knew more about him, and his friendship with the prince, than she really wanted…

Of course, Legolas was nervous. Terrified, really…

He had dressed, not in his best or his finest, but in the things Govon liked seeing him in most; close-fitting grey leggings, white shirt, the plain grey coat that ended just below his hips. His knives and his bow were slung at his back, because this was Mirkwood, after all, and after dark. One couldn't take too many chances.

The hand-carved armband was burning a hole inside his coat as he waited outside the grove of the fëa trees for Govon to arrive.

A rustle on the path behind him; he turned, but it was Nestoril he saw, her figure pale in her gown and her hair covered with her light blue head-rail. She smiled.

'Govon arrived a few moments ago, my prince,' she told him. 'He's waiting within for you.'

'My thanks, Nestoril. For all your help.'

'Go on. Go!' She gave him a friendly little shove towards the sentinel holly trees and he bowed before passing through.

Govan was waiting in front of a little cluster of trees; a silver birch, a cherry tree, a golden rowan and – a newcomer to the grove, although Govan would not know that, but it made Legolas smile and think of his lover's eyes – a hazel tree. He was wearing a variant of his uniform, a dark grey shirt and leggings, and unless he had chosen to present himself in kilt and battle paint, he could not have looked more perfect.

Govon turned, his smile threatening to burst into a grin, but he tried to compose himself as Legolas stood at his side and Nestoril took her place facing them.

Soft sounds behind them as others entered the grove and took places; Legolas expected his brothers, hoped for his father, but he could not look behind once the witness had taken up position as Nestoril now had; all his attention was on her and on Govon, now, until this was done. But there were more sounds than he expected, and they went on for longer.

'Friends,' Nestoril began softly once the grove had fallen still. 'Govon, Legolas, you are here to make vows of promise, each to the other, and I am your witness. Speak, Legolas! Govon, speak!'

The vows were simple, much the same as vows of this nature everywhere, promises of fidelity and trust and love and support, and when they had done, Nestoril bowed her head.

'It is with honour that I witness these vows beneath the bright stars. And what token of these promises made have you for each other, symbols of the ties between you?'

Her hands closed over the items handed her, and she smiled as she saw what they were; one carved from an unending circle of wood which she fastened about Govon's wrist, a fine braid of plaited hair, bowstring and leather woven into an intricate pattern which she tied around the wrist of Legolas.

'Your vows are witnessed, your commitments made. Body to body, heart to heart, fëa to fëa. Today, tomorrow, forever, live in joy and light.'

At the last word, she uncovered a lamp that had hung from one of the trees, and the grove filled with brightness as Legolas and Govon turned and saw more lamps uncovered around; Merlinith's face lit and happy, Iauron and Tharmeduil, Arveldir the advisor… Legolas grasped Govon's hand as more and more lamps shine out… Bregon, and others – Govon's lieutenants Hador and Tegolon… it seemed like all the honour guard was there, and Legolas shook his head in astonishment as towards the back of the grove one last lamp was uncovered and held high and King Thranduil, in his robes of state and silver springtime crown walked up to his son and embraced him before stepping back to grasp Govon on the shoulder and with a swift smile turn on his heel and stalk off before anyone could notice the tears leaking traitorously down his face from behind his regal mask of impassivity.

Translations:

Ellith - elves (f)

Ellyn – elves (m)


	54. Chapter 54: Departure

Legolas opened contented, lazy eyes and watched Govon making preparations for the journey.

'It's far too early to get up,' he said.

His fëa-mate stopped his packing and turned to smile at Legolas.

'Don't get up, then, melleth. You've plenty of time, after all; I have my command to order around.'

'Have you time to bathe with me, at least?'

'I've time for more than that. I was but making best use of the time until you woke.' Govon came back over to the bed and climbed in, pulling Legolas against his chest. 'And now we should make best use of the time before I leave. It will be difficult when once we're on the way, you know this?'

'Yes. More so for you, perhaps; you will have your command constantly about you.'

Govon paused to kiss him softly.

'And I thought for you it would be worse, for I will be busy, after all, my working hours full, while you will have to make small-talk with the rest of the court.' He smiled. 'But we may find a way. And your father did not quite have a fit about our avowing.'

Legolas touched the plaited band on his arm with wondering fingers, still unable to really believe it had happened.

'I think it has much to do with the fact that you so roundly trounced him in the sparring chamber…'

'Melleth-nin! Where did you get that idea from? It was a draw!'

'Was it so? From where I was watching, it did not look like a draw…'

'That mouth of yours!' Govon rolled on top of him, his nose inches away from Legolas'. 'It is doing the talking-thing again when it would be much better employed otherwise…'

Legolas smiled as he slid his hands over Govon's strong back and down to his waist.

'Otherwise, melleth?'

'…elsewhere, perhaps…'

'Elsewhere?' His lips worked on Govon's throat and he tightened his arms around him to roll the captain over and put himself on top, taking his mouth down Govon's chest, down towards his hips. 'I think I can manage that for you, melleth…'

It was some time later that Legolas kissed Govon and saw him out of their chambers. He had wanted to walk with him to the barracks, but realised that it would not be wise.

'And so, Govon, when I next see you, I must call you Commander, not melleth.'

'You will have your honoured father there to remind you. And so, I will see you at the gates with the rest of the court, my fair elf.' He smiled suddenly. 'My prince, that is.'

Although Govon was not a noisy elf, the rooms seemed very quiet after he'd gone. He didn't take up much room, either, he and his weapons trunk and his clothes chest, but the chambers echoed, suddenly empty. Legolas finished the last of his own packing, slung his bow and knives over his shoulder and picked up his saddlebags, making his way to Tharmeduil's rooms were the brothers had agreed to meet for breakfast.

It was a relief to have company, even if Iauron did make sly comments about how Legolas had been spending his time since the night of his avowing, and it did not help that Tharmeduil had told him not to bother his brother.

'For I can probably tell you,' he said. 'And, I have pictures…'

'Tharmeduil, it is entirely possible to stop liking one's brother, you know…' Legolas protested.

'Yes, but you won't.' Tharmeduil grinned.

King Thranduil sat for an hour in his study receiving a succession of visitors, eating a hurried breakfast in between knocks at the door. Arveldir's assistant, reporting the handover of all the important matters… Over-Captain Rawon to reprise the latest reports and assure the king that the sorties after the spiders would continue while the Royal Court was on the move… Healer Nestoril to say that the healer halls were properly stocked, that all the medical supplies she needed were packed, that she herself was ready, and finally, Arveldir himself arrived.

'Are we ready, Arveldir?'

'As ready as we can be, my king. Word has gone to the stables to have the horses readied. Your elk is also being saddled, sire. We can get underway as soon as you are ready.'

'Then I will see you outside shortly.'

Taking this as dismissal, Arveldir bowed his way out and went to collar his assistant with a few last-minute suggestions while Thranduil reached for the remains of his much-interrupted breakfast.

'This is ridiculous! Why do we have to have horses?' Iauron grumbled. 'Mirkwood is no place for horses!'

Legolas glanced across from where he'd been stroking the nose of his own mount, a chestnut with a white blaze and socks.

'If we were all on horseback, I'd agree with you; finding feed for sixty horses daily in Mirkwood is not practical. And the supply lines will get very long. But you can't expect Adar to walk all the way to a meeting with Imladris, can you?' he said.

'Well, no. But he has an elk. Why can't we just march?'

Legolas raised an eyebrow. 'You? March?'

'It's better than being saddle sore… talking of which, littlest brother. I'm surprised you're not more worried about being in the saddle all day yourself!'

'Which, oldest brother, just goes to show how uninformed you are on some matters.' Legolas swung up into the saddle with apparent ease and brought his mount round to join Tharmeduil's. 'Here's Nestoril.'

The healer was dressed in sombre browns and greens, a knee length tunic over boots and leggings with her hair for once uncovered. The only sign of her office was a blue armband around her shoulder. She smiled as she joined the group, and greeted the horse that had been readied for her, a fine grey. She scratched its neck while a servant attached her saddlebags.

'Really, I don't know why I bother!' she said. 'Here am I dressed to blend against the trees and the shadows, and they find me a shining bright beauty like this one!'

The horse whiffled at her, and she jumped up into the saddle.

'I hope you've packed plenty of embrocation, Nestoril,' Tharmeduil said.

'Oh? I thought you rode often?'

'I do. I was thinking of Iauron. He's already complaining and he's only been in the saddle five minutes!'

A little bustle behind them and King Thranduil rode up on his elk, Arveldir on a black horse following behind. The elk dwarfed the horses, making them look like ponies by comparison.

'Ai, look at the spread of the beast!' Iauron muttered

'Do you think Nelleron has grown since you last saw him?' Thranduil said, the edges of his mouth lifting in the slightest of pleased smiles.

'Adar, I think the antlers on him are so wide, he'll have to turn his head sideways to get down parts of the trail!'

From the direction of the barracks, a horn rang out and a shout went up. Soon, Captain Esgaron and his troop came into sight, closely followed by the honour guard led by Captain Bregon. The two leaders were both on horseback and they reined in and halted their command.

The sound of hooves and the Court Guard cantered round the corner to pull up, Govon at their head. He waited for Bregon and Esgaron to push their mounts forward and together the three approached the court.

'Commanders, how do we proceed?' the king asked.

'The Court Guard around you, my king, and the honour guard around them. Half my command in the van with the supply train and half at the head so that the court will be at the centre of our defence.'

'Very good. When you are ready, proceed.'

Esgaron gave the order and the company began to move out. Govon organised his command to keep Canadion away from both Legolas and the king and, with much restraint, put himself at the back where he rode close to Nestoril and Tharmeduil and could at least admire how straight and true his fëa-mate sat in the saddle, how bright his shining hair.

They crossed the bridge in narrow cavalcade watched by the rest of the household. Legolas spotted Merlinith in the crowd, beaming and waving and her face brimming with pride. He knew why, of course; even though he was presently denied the sight, the prince had seen Govon looking every inch the Commander on his tall piebald horse and new uniform, and he found himself smiling as he rode beside a still-grumbling Iauron into the shadows of Mirkwood.


	55. Chapter 55: Feasting

For weeks Angrisla and Carenoril had ravaged through the tunnels and byways of the orc nest. Carenoril would come upon a group and flame at them, driving them shrieking and fleeing right into the poisoned breath of the waiting cold drake. They fed and ate and grew and began to find their way around the caverns and passageways, exploring further as the orcs diminished in number and became harder to find. There was something about the flesh, too; it failed to properly satisfy them, as if enough was not enough, as if the black blood that filled the bags of meat somehow was lacking.

They were still young and growing, of course. Still learning.

And now they learned to listen.

Some of the old tales will tell you that dragons are telepathic, that they speak with their minds. Others will claim that dragons, like other ancient and dangerous creatures somehow know all the languages of the world and so can communicate with any they so choose… with flame, teeth, roar or even voice, if they so choose.

Angrisla and Calenoril didn't think to try to communicate with the meat. But as time went on, and the food became less easily found, they began to notice the squeaks and snarls and the words within them, and so discovered, even from the little, squeaky orcs, that there was more to language than they had yet worked out.

Certainly, they learned a lot of insults, and their new listening skills helped them avoid more than one ambush attempt. They learned stealth and silence as food got a little more wary.

Angrisla found a way of lying still and folded against the rocks so that he resembled them himself. Calenoril would leave him lying there and slide through the tunnels to gently steer the orcs away from herself and towards Angrisla's grey shadows.

Currently, on this day of growing hunger and impatience, she was stalking a group of three orcs who kept imagining they were getting further away from danger.

'Nearly free, lads!'

'I still say we should ha' gone out the side door into the pass…'

'Nah… that's where the black one is… he got Churn and Bost yesterday.'

'Well, that'll make things quieter round here. Right squealer, that Bost was…'

The black one! Carenoril almost forgot to give the little huff of breath that was needed to keep the orcs moving towards Angrisla…

Could the little meats – these orcs – mean Daedor?

She grumbled softly, driving the food in the right direction.

Calenoril had forgotten about Daedor, almost. Out of sight, out of mind, and he had been a threat, of sorts, and killed… killed…?

Dragons never forget. But, if they are young and hungry, they sometimes do not completely remember.

A fluff of flame, and the orcs ran shrieking into Angrisla's cold, dead breath, and, distracted by the feast, Carenoril thought no more of Daedor for some time.

But the black fire drake was indeed still alive, and well, and flourishing.

After he had broken out of the lower slopes of the mountains and into that too-bright day to find himself faced with a warg, he had lacked nothing. There were wargs a-plenty, huge great beasts like to giant wolves but bigger than a horse and far more meaty.

He learned swiftly that flame made him visible, that fire brought the warg packs together to snap and snarl and try to take him unawares, and so he learned not to flame unless he wanted to lead the wargs somewhere easier for him to hunt them.

At first they had no idea what was picking off their scouts, and when they did, and retreated, still Daedor, black as night and silent-winged, had the advantage. For wargs, too, had to hunt and it was a bad night on the wing if Daedor didn't get either warg, or intended warg victim, or both. And there was other meat, smaller, with dark blood and it was somehow not sufficient, but it was there, and if he found it, he ate it. He had everything he needed.

Except…

Did he really have no lack? At night, sheltering in a shallow cave, or curled into the black shadows behind the rocks of the mountains, he remembered Carenoril, the red female with flame, and he knew he needed her for something, or that he would need her one day.

In the tunnels, there were no more squeaks, not even the littlest ones. The orc-food was gone.

Ranging through the tunnels in the hope of finding a last meal before hunger grew bigger than their alliance, Angrisla came upon a strong scent of the meats, strangely, as there had been less the day before, and he followed it, and Calenoril followed him, and so the came to the dark door, the hidden exit to the orc nest through which the very last of the orcs had fled, and although the dragonets were too big, and the way was too narrow, eventually they widened it with flame and fury and found themselves on the side of the mountain.

'Out!' Carenoril exclaimed, singing, wheeling high into the sky. 'Big out, so tall, so much up to dance in, Angrisla, dance with me beloved friend, play in the air and sing with Carenoril!'

And Angrisla thought about wasted energy, but still, he twisted up into the high skies as dawn came up around the landscape.

And such a landscape!

North, the cold, hard mountain lands where, had they known it, the last lingerings of their kin still held on. South, the Misty Mountains lay like a broken spine, writhing down out of sight. East, a plain bisected by a river running south, and beyond the flatness, the dense, dark greens of Mirkwood rolling out of sight. West, beyond the fall of the mountains, undulations of green and beige rolled out.

But up here, the air was clear and crisp and made for dancing, and Carenoril spiralled up and Angrisla matched her dance, and any watching would have seen them in the sky and marvelled at the beauty of them.

Except for one.

A wanderer. A lost soul, one might say, except he didn't think himself lost; he knew exactly where he was and it was simply everywhere else that was in the wrong place.

A flit of shadow and he glanced up from watching his path and saw the dragons dance in the sky. He watched for a moment, relieved. He had seen flame, then, further up the valley, weeks ago now. He hadn't imagined it. At the time, although he had insisted to the strange elvish creatures who had questioned him so courteously, and yet so closely, he had wondered if he might have dreamt the sky-fire. But no. It was real.

And so was the sense of being watched and he turned and saw a black outcrop of rock with eyes and teeth uncoiling itself, and he had just to time to realise that this was real, too, when the thing launched itself at him and the teeth found home in a brief surge of pain and blood.

Daedor feasted, too hungry to wonder what the meat had been staring at until he'd eaten the last of it, crunching down the bones. Only then, as he licked the blood off his muzzle, did he look up and see the dance, red and grey. In the bright, early sun, Carenoril glinted like rubies and even Angrisla was shot with silver, no longer merely grey.

They had left him, ignored his suggestion, and not followed. Looking at them, the lean, hollow look to them although they still seemed well-fed, he knew he had been right. He was sleek and rounded and bigger now, biggest.

He needed Carenoril, needed her ruby redness, her clever flame.

Angrisla? No. But there would be time to think about how to get rid of him, how to get away from him, but for now…

For now, Daedor was delighted to see his siblings again, and he launched himself up to tjoin them in their dance.


	56. Chapter 56: First Halt

Wids 56: First Halt

Thranduil sat in half-reverie on Nelleron's back, lulled by the soft rhythm of the elk's cloven hooves. Underway, finally. A ridiculous amount of trouble to go, all told, and a three week's ride ahead. So many warriors, so many provisions and considerations…

They needed none of this, of course, not really. They were wood-elves, and these were their woods. They could hunt their own food and sleep in the trees, sidle unseen from canopy to canopy…

Nor did it need take so long. All was in train so that, if the two parties were to come to agreement, they could sign the formal documents on Midsummer, as was only right and proper. But, of course, both sides had to meet, to discuss, to… allow the young people to look at each other and be sure.

So Thranduil wanted to be there, the royal court in session on the eyot, at least a week before Midsummer.

Even so, they had left in good time. Healer Nestoril had pointed out that if Tharmeduil were to be taken ill during the journey, they may need to halt for a day or two while he recovered. This was worrying, particularly her insistence that this was not simply a precaution; it was as if she knew it would happen.

He did not ask if this was so.

Ten days to ride in state through the forest and a further week on the plain. It was a long time to be travelling.

But this wasn't travelling, it was a procession to meet with Imladris, so they could not simply turn up in their hunter's garb smelling of almost three weeks in the saddle; they had to be seen to make stately way through the kingdom of Mirkwood.

Not to mention that there was civic pride involved; Mirkwood wanted to arrive first.

Really, it was all a ruse. Thranduil could not imagine Iaruon and Arwen being really interested in each other, but once Iauron had 'accidentally' sent his letter off, and Nestoril had begged for help on behalf of Thranduil's second son, he knew he would have to go through with this, if just for the possibility Tharmeduil could be cured.

Iauron, an unending source of amusement, exasperation and pride. Tharmeduil, a worry and in whose face his mother walked, still. Legolas, his swift change from troubled to joyous…

And how joyous Legolas looked today indeed…

Thranduil did not allow the smile at this thought to reach his face. Oh, it was not ideal; if he chose to, he would be able to lecture for hours on the potential for disappointment in a son who sought a male pairing…

But he held back. The king in him had no reason for concern; Legolas was not required to provide an heir for the kingdom, after all; Iauron had already proved himself more than capable of that.

And the father in him? Really, it had not been a surprise, and he had more than a suspicion that something had happened while Legolas had been at Imladris. Perhaps it had been there, amongst strangers, that Legolas had become aware of his different nature? Certainly, he had come back changed…

Decades ago, though. He could not but be relieved his son had taken no lingering, lasting hurt from whatever had darkened his shining spirit, and if, in recent months Legolas had seemed to be struggling, certainly now he was happy.

It should have been easy to dislike Govon; he was an obvious target. A Silvan, a wood-elf, with the old traditions burning in his heart. Not an appropriate match at all for a royal Sindar. However, was not that what his own father had said to him, once, so long ago? Only in gender was his son's choice different from his own.

But that sparring contest… Govon hadn't just fought to show his skill and please his king, he had fought as if winning would make him worthy to be Legolas' fëa-mate, as if he fought for him, to win him. And how could Thranduil not honour that, not respect that?

As for the avowing… how could he have not been present? How could he have done otherwise than have Arveldir rouse the kitchens and send to the barracks with word to Govon's Commander, how not do all he could to make sure as many as possible could be there, in the grove, to witness this strange union?

He thought back to his own avowing. She had been fair, his fëa-mate, and they had understood each other, for all she had refused to do more than make vows, would not be queen or wife, only mother of princes. Only beloved consort. The years had been too short, and now she was gone, dead, waiting in the Halls of Mandos, if you believed the Sindar way, or possibly not, if you followed Silvan tradition.

Silvan tradition! A mixture of ancient ways and old magic, things no Sindar could ever really understand; it was part of the blood, the life of the forest, and for all Thranduil had been here so long, for all he loved the forest, the kingdom, the people, still he was not, perhaps, fully integrated. Now his fëa-mate was dead, Thranduil was not permitted to speak her name, for, except on the Days of Remembering, when the Silvans sang the names of their dead, they believed speaking the name of one of the dead when they were not expecting it would call them from their reverie of bliss and remind them of their death and loss. Yet it galled him that he couldn't whisper her name in the dread of dark when he felt so alone, that he always had to refer to her distantly; 'your mother'; 'my late consort'…

Govon had best not die. Thranduil did not want to see his son struggle, unable to say a once-precious name.

Nelleron stopped, breaking the rhythm of the king's thoughts and he brought himself back to the now to find Commander Bregon waiting patiently.

'Speak, Commander.'

'My king, we are almost at the glade where the arachnids overran us. It has been restored, and would make a good place to rest for the day meal, and we commanders can speak with the company on watch…'

'Very well. You may proceed.'

How long had Bregon been waiting? Not long, he was sure; Nelleron had only just come to a halt.

Bregon rode off, inviting Govon and Esgaron to join him with a twist of his head, and the company made their way into the clearing.

Legolas dismounted and looked around the glade.

'This is where it happened, then?' Tharmeduil joined him. 'I recognise the place, one of the first things I drew from my visions.'

'It looks so different now,' Legolas said softly. 'As it was when we arrived; clean, grassy. Renewed. But they piled through… I was on one of the flets… over there…' He pointed. 'I lost track of how many we killed… not knowing what was happening, really, it was so sudden, so swift. Worse than a battle, in some ways – you know what's expected in a skirmish, against a foe, a thinking, reasoning enemy. But against spiders? All reaction and wildness and instinct. The sheer chaos of their attack… and so many dead, after, lying all around, the eggs, stripped of the caul, and the spiderlings inside moving…' The prince shuddered. 'It's strange how your life can turn in a moment, on a decision made apparently at random… Bregon wanted to send me back, escort with the walking wounded, but that seemed too easy. I didn't want to stay here and take part in the clearing up; it would have meant destroying the eggs and I didn't have the stomach for it. I'd spoken to Flora only that morning, she'd said she'd felt her baby move and it just felt… so that's why I went with Tinuon to the outposts.'

'And met your fëa-mate.' Tharmeduil reached out swiftly. 'Listen… It will be well. I know it will be well. Just… Oh, you don't need me to tell you. Come on. Looks like Adar's woken up at last. Wonder what had him thinking so deeply?'

'It was probably nothing more serious than how it's possible for his riding elk, Silvan-trained, to have a Quenya-Sindar name.'

Tharmeduil laughed. 'Yes. And now I'm wondering how that's possible, too!'

'Did you not know?' Legolas smiled at his brother. 'It's to annoy any Noldor purists who might happen to hear of it; they have a unique sense of humour, the Silvan elk-trainers.'


	57. Chapter 57: 'We Endure'

'What say you, Commander?'

It took a heartbeat or two for Govon to realise Esgaron was talking to him. Around them, the rest of the escort filed into the glade to break for the day meal.

'Lead on, Commander,' he replied, following Esgaron to where Bregon was already talking to Pedir who had the command of the watch on the glade.

Bregon nodded to them both.

'Commander Pedir here has been holding the road from this position. Commander?'

Pedir inclined his head.

'We've established a line of flets a half day south of, and parallel to the road. More flets further in, but less close to each other. There are also temporary flets lining the road, too, for protection of the camp sites. The spiders haven't broken through, but they are still trying to get north of the road.'

'How far along the road do the flets reach?

'We have them set up for three good marches ahead; one the royal procession has reached the guard of the second flet, the construction detail will begin work on a new flet another march away, ensuring the party scouting ahead has somewhere to come back to. So there should always be a guarded flet ahead, above, and behind the court.'

'Pedir, you've done well, considering what you're up against.'

'They attack, we fight. They die, we endure. The spiders seem determined to get north of the road; I know so little about them, except how to make them die, but there is this… urgency to them…'

'There are one or two with us who claim to know the ways of the creatures… they think the spiders sensed there was an earth tremor coming, and so fled their breeding grounds. Perhaps now the danger has gone, they want to return to the same place to try again to spawn,' Bregon suggested. 'If we can prevent them doing so, next year should be easier, around the palace enclave at least. But I appreciate it is harder for you to hold them back.'

'Ai, the spiders we can cope with; it's the 'Do we really need to have so many warriors in the field at this time just for a few spiders?' that wounds us. The king's advisor has suggested our deployment and precautions are excessive…'

'The king's advisor was not here when the spiders migrated through,' Bregon said. 'He'd think differently, had he been. One of the princes was, though. We should encourage our command to talk about their experiences, Govon,' Bregon said. 'It will sound as if they are comparing notes rather than explaining the threat.'

'It will be difficult for Lord Arveldir not to realise at least some of the dangers,' Govon agreed. He looked towards where Legolas and Tharmeduil were engaged in conversation at the far side of the glade, Legolas point up into one of the trees. 'Indeed, I think our princes are already talking of the matter.'

'Good. Has the king told you yet how far he wants to travel each day?'

'Not yet. I understand there is no urgency, but I will speak to Lord Arveldir and impress upon him the importance of a schedule so that the court may be properly protected and the Commander Pedir's efforts are properly appreciated.'

'Excellent,' Bregon said. 'Pedir, I'll speak with you further before we leave.'

'Very good, Commander. We have the watch now; take your ease.'

The open glade, with trees all around, bearing as it did a passing resemblance to the greensward within the palace environs, it was perhaps not surprising that within moments of settling to their day meal, the Court Guard found they were joined by the court itself; even Thranduil came to sit nearby, talking politely with Healer Nestoril and sparing the occasional word for the others of the guard near him; Hador and Tegolon were closest.

Without knowing quite how it happened, or who moved so another could sit in the space vacated, Govon soon found Legolas at his side, Tharmeduil nearby, too, but not encroaching.

'How's your first day going, friend Commander?' Legolas asked.

'Easy, so far, except difficult. Being near you, but not with you, that is a challenge,' he admitted. 'And they keep saying 'Commander', and I keep thinking, 'who?' But it is an honour. So this is where the spiders that attacked my command came when they left us? You fought them here?'

'Or hid from them, depending who you listen to.'

Govon laughed. 'Ai, he's already trying to recant that one, saying it was a 'confusing time'… as I'm sure it was.'

'Indeed, it was a time of much confusion. And a new thing; I had only been on patrol once, and the spiders we encountered then were fewer, and in their own webs. They were not on the march, protecting their egg-laden queens.'

'And Commander Pedir, who holds this place now, he tells they are trying to get north of the road again.' Govon knew Arveldir was close enough to hear, should he choose to listen in, and so this was as good a time as any to speak in support of Pedir's efforts. 'It is possible they are driven to return to their breeding place, just as the danger from the earth tremor drove them from it. What can one do against such instinct as that? Pedir needs all his force to keep them held back.'

'We –Bregon's command – killed many. At least sixty of the creatures including three of the queens and their cauls. But more passed through; indeed, I think it came as a surprise to those who do not know the forest, that there could be so many spiders in one small region so apparently close to the palace.'

'It is a worry, when you think of it like that. Commander Esgaron was saying to me, that Over Captain Rawon tracked back the line of the arachnid's advance, and while they overran six flets north of the road, they then had come from the north west. He thinks they have been breeding around that wasteland – the one halfway between the river and the northern boundary.'

'I know of it – I've not been so far north.'

'Not many of us have, not of late. The forest is changing, my prince. Your father keeps us safe, but the boundaries of that safety are shrinking a little, flet by flet, outpost by outpost.' Govon sighed. 'it is not that we have become less, but that beyond our borders, the dangers are becoming more. But then, we are elves; we endure.'


	58. Chapter 58: King's Command

It took all Govon's elvish endurance to get him through the next few days.

Oh, his duties were easy enough; there was no real work for him to do at the moment other than be alert and keep his guard alert, too. He set watch at night, even though he perhaps didn't need to, yet, but it was better to get his command into the habit of it now, when it wasn't important, so that they were used to it when the time came that such a night watch could be vital.

The routine was straightforward enough. On the first day, after the day meal break, they had ridden and marched until they heard the whistled signals from the side of the road that told them they had come under the protection of the next flet. Here they made contact with the guards and checked all was well before continuing to the next flet, near which they made camp for the night, and this set the pattern for succeeding days. Breakfast, break camp, proceed along the road until they heard from the next guard flet. Hear the report, break for the day meal. Proceed to the next flet, make sure all was well, continue to the next flet and make camp for the night, eat, make the day reports...

It really wasn't arduous.

And yet it was impossible. Govon rode at the head of the guard, knowing Legolas was behind him, feeling his melleth's eyes roaming his form. Or else he rode at the back of the guard, seeing his Legolas, his fair, fair elf shining and sitting tall in the saddle, perhaps in turn feeling how Govon watched him. Conversations during the day meal, the night meal, breakfast. Always in public, always Govon aware that he was under observation. Always, he had to maintain restraint, be disciplined, carry himself like a warrior.

For how else could it be? If he did not show discipline, how could he expect it of his command?

Ai, but for an hour alone with his fëa-mate…!

And the way Legolas looked at him, understanding, acknowledging the need for restraint, yet his eyes full of other needs…

There were weeks, many weeks of this torture ahead and just this few days had been torment enough. Never private. Always watched.

'We should do something,' Nestoril whispered to Tharmeduil. 'Your brother at least has you to talk to about this separation; poor Govon does not!'

'Don't worry about him,' Tharmeduil said, which would have reassured her if he hadn't added, 'not now, at least. They're all right now.'

The Court Guard noticed, but if Canadion made jokes about it, Thiriston made sure he only made them quietly, and to him; this new commander didn't seem a bad sort, really and it would be best not to offend him, thinking of the future.

Iauron noticed his brother languishing, and he did laugh at him, hoping to distract him.

It didn't work.

'I can't expect you to understand,' Legolas had said calmly. 'After all, you've never really loved anyone but yourself,' and while Iauron had protested, still, he was ashamed to realise it was true.

So the Court Guard watched Govon and the court watched Legolas, and all wondered how it would go.

On the fourth night after they had left the palace, Commander Govon went to give his day report to Arveldir and King Thranduil after the night meal, as was usual. There was not a lot to say, which was maybe a good thing. The report took place in private, in the king's tent, which also maybe was a good thing.

'…and so, my king, I am pleased to report from the guard flets, that word has been passed back saying the spiders are being held to the south of the road… tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, we will find the crossing of the Enchanted River and from there on, the terrain will become harder for a time, but we are still ahead of schedule…'

'Commander Govon, we find we do not need to hear your reports ourselves,' the king said, his voice a languid drawl, suggesting he was bored, or tired, or both. Govon dipped his head, fearing an implied rebuke. 'And so in future, you will make written reports to pass to Lord Arveldir…'

Ai, Valar! More work! But if it was the king's will…

'Of course, your majesty. It shall be done.'

'Prepare them when we make night camp and before the night meal so that my advisor has time to mull the contents before he retires.'

'Yes, my king…'

'Also, I have noticed you are conscientious with regard to setting a nightly watch from the Court Guard. While this is admirable, it appears that you yourself constantly take the midnight watch. It is my understanding that this is not a popular duty, and it would be better shared… I do not seek to tell you your job, Commander, but we are led to believe that the most dangerous watch is the one before dawn… and it is almost as unpopular with the guard detail as first watch…'

'I am most grateful to my king for guidance in this matter,' Govon made himself say, even though he was struggling not to resent such interference. 'As I am new to command, I cannot but appreciate my king's concern.'

'Quite. You are to make sure you have no duties during the midnight watch; that is to be your time, for your own… requirements, as recompense for the added burden of having to make formal written reports, unless your previous duty should happen to overrun its allotted time.'

'If that is my king's wish, but if I am no longer reporting to your majesty in person, I will have no duty after the writing of my reports…'

'Indeed, that should be so. But I have another duty for you instead; I require you to spend the time after the night meal with my son… my youngest son, who has fought with these arachnids in person. Take as much time as you need to discuss tactics, the habits of the creatures… we will soon, as you have so duly noted this evening, be crossing the river of enchantment and I would have us all alert for that. This time with my youngest son must become part of your daily routine, and if it should happen to over-run into the midnight watch, then this is unfortunate, but it is to be considered part of your duties and this is the reason why you will no longer take the first watch.' The king fell silent, giving the commander time to assimilate the implications of this statement. Once sure, he made his voice dispassionate, disinterested as he went on. 'I take it you understand?'

Govon swallowed. Oh, he understood…

'It shall be as my king commands,' he said.

As soon as the night meal was done, Legolas returned to his tent, aware of the eyes that followed him… he wished they wouldn't. He felt the sympathy from Nestoril, caught the humour from Iauron, but, really, he just wanted to be left to cope in his own way with the enforced separation from Govon.

The tents were good, spacious even, enough room to enter standing and walk around, as long as you didn't want to walk too far. Carpets underfoot, a camp bed… there was nothing wrong with it.

Except it was his alone, not his and his fëa-mate's.

There was a sound outside, a knocking against the buckler set outside for such a purpose. He should have brought it inside with him, to show he was only to be disturbed in an emergency. He sighed.

'Yes?'

'Your pardon, highness. His majesty the king has decided he wishes to delegate the hearing of the daily reports. From this evening, it will be your responsibility.'

Well, it would give him a focus, he supposed. 'Thank you, Arveldir.'

The advisor waited, not yet finished.

'Was there something more?' Legolas asked.

'May I show the Commander in, my prince? On my way out?'

'Very well. Tell him to bring in the buckler; I won't want to see anyone else tonight.'

'Understandable, my prince,' Arveldir said, and, while Legolas was still pondering that, took his leave. Legolas heard him speaking to someone outside, passing on the message, but it still didn't prepare him for who walked in.

He stared.

'Forgive the intrusion, my prince,' Govon said, his eyes smiling as he set down the buckler near the entrance to the tent and folded across the closing fabrics. 'It is the king's command that I report to you tonight. Each night. I hope this is not an inconvenience?'

Legolas crossed the short space between them, realisation and joy blossoming in his face, and placed his hands on Govon's shoulders.

'If it's the king's command,' he said, 'who are we to argue?'


	59. Chapter 59: A Cry in the Night

'How was the watch, Tinuon?' Govon asked.

'Quiet, Commander.' He nodded in the direction of the tents belonging to the Court Guard. 'Apart from those two. It seems Canadion's having a disturbed night… again… How fortunate he has such a good friend in Thiriston, always willing to leave his own bedroll to help…' He grinned. 'They can get a bit wrapped up in each other.'

'I'd noticed. But as long as they're alert enough when they need to be…'

'They usually are. Commander… any of us would have volunteered for first watch, you know. Well, maybe not those two… but the rest of us…'

Govon nodded.

'I know. Now we have this new system for reporting, I'll be having to leave first watch to the rest of you anyway.'

'Of course, Commander. Hador has the third watch tonight.'

'Thank you, Tinuon. You can stand down now.'

'Aye. Goodnight, Commander.'

Govon walked the perimeter of the Royal Court's encampment slowly, quietly, making sure not to linger outside Legolas' tent, making sure he kept moving… he was glad, now, he had decided on two hour shifts instead of one for the guard duty; not only did it mean half his command had an uninterrupted night's rest (or whatever else they chose to do), but it meant up to two hours each night added onto the time he spent… ah… 'reporting' to his prince by the king's command…

Of course, being Commander, he would take a watch every night – this one, in the darkest hours just before the sky began, somewhere above the trees, to blue with impending daybreak, or the one after, the hours of the second hunt of the predators and the waking of the world to a new dawn. He would take third watch tomorrow, properly alternate his shifts so his warriors could see he wasn't slacking.

And no doubt there would be a few remarks about his new duties, how arduous a task it must be to have to spend so much time reporting to the prince… Canadion and Thiriston were bound to look slyly at each other, and Hador and Tegolon try not to smirk – although their grins would be more to do with sympathy for their Commander than in thinking about what he might have been up to with his prince – and Tinuon would try, as his second, to make all easy.

Well, there would be no point trying to deny it. After making his report as ordered – 'Everything's fine, the spiders are being held south of the road, we cross the Enchanted River tomorrow, why not push your oldest brother in, he can't tease while he's in a drugged sleep, can he…?' – he and Legolas had quickly moved on to other topics…

But in spite of his best intentions to be discreet and subtle and as restrained as was possible after the enforced separation, he had discovered that his fëa-mate's voice seemed to carry a lot further in the confines of an encampment than it did in their chambers.

Still, it was worth any amount of embarrassment on the morrow to have been able to hold his fëa-mate close and hear him cry out against him in love and urgency and need.

He made a mental note to try to make sure first watch was always taken by someone who didn't gossip…

Of course, it hadn't just been the demands of their bodies that had been sated; the demands of their fëar for unfettered conversation had been answered, too. Lying close and content, and talking gently, Legolas had brushed his fingers against the carved chain on Govon's arm where it rode just above the elbow beneath the surge of his bicep.

'I did not think I would have it finished in time. But the extra hours you had to work, those few days before we made our vows, I had something to occupy me.'

'And I had no idea what you were thinking – how stupid of me was that? But I had thought, you would not want the distraction, not with the journey ahead and your brother's concerns… and perhaps, for all I knew we were fëa-mates, for all the love between us, still, to ask for vows with you, it seemed… audacious.'

'But you are audacious, melleth; I saw you fight my father, remember? And maybe… yes, until then, perhaps I had thought to delay until we returned. But then I realised I could not wait.' Legolas reached out to stroke the carved chain. 'And this was finished and ready and waiting in our chambers, and so when you won, I decided, and asked Nestoril to be our witness for that night…'

'And so I had a half a day to make a token worthy of a prince.' Govan smiled as Legolas raised his wrist to stroke and smooth the braided token there. 'It will wear, I fear, unlike the one you made for me…'

'But it is perfect. It is fitting, too; you are a warrior, my warrior, and it is made of warrior's goods. It is as much of you, as yours is of me.'

'If it wears, I will make you another.'

'It will last long; I will cherish it. As I will you.'

Govon had smiled at that, and smiled now at the memory of it. Yes, that was how he felt; cherished.

And possibly slightly tender.

So, in the morning, he would adjust the placement of the carved wooden chain on his arm so that it would be visible when he led his command. They could laugh and snigger and smirk all they wanted, but they would do so in the sight of the token that said he was avowed, that he was loved and cherished by his fëa-mate, and if, in that, Canadion and Thiriston found cause for humour, then let them.

Another turn around the camp. Govon considered going to the guard flet to check in with the watch there, but decided against it; they might be sleeping instead of watching, trusting in him to be eyes for the camp, and he would not get them into trouble; he knew of old how hard it was to be the guard on an outpost flet.

It was well into the second hour of his watch when it happened; a sudden noise, a low moan, such as would not have surprised him, had it come from Canadion's tent, but this didn't; it came from within the royal encampment.

He hurried back towards the origin of the sound – it hadn't sounded like Legolas, please let all be well with Legolas – checking as he went for any signs of intrusion, but all appeared well …

The moan came again, increasing, turning into screams and yells that ripped through the camp, and he flung himself towards it, sword drawn, to find the disturbance was coming from a tent near his fëa-mate's – Tharmeduil!

Healer Nestoril arrived just as Govon did, and she was about to enter but that he held her back.

'Wait, Healer. Let me.'

'Well, hurry!'

Govon held aside the covering fabrics and entered the tent. Tharmeduil had stopped screaming, but was moaning and muttering and groaning, his body flailing. But he was alone and, as far as Govon could tell, not under attack. He sheathed his sword and called Nestoril in.

'Oh…!' She hurried over, anxiety twisting her face as she reached out to try to touch the threshing form. 'Govon, help me! Take hold of him, push him onto his side… restrain him, carefully, please!'

The only way to do so was to place himself at Tharmeduil's back and fold an arm over him. It didn't feel right to be holding him so, and Tharmeduil seemed not to like the contact either for he threw his head back, making painful contact with Govon's nose.

'Good. Hold him so, talk to him, calm him, pay attention to ought he says… I will be but a moment!'

What? 'Please, Healer, do not…' But she was gone.

'Prince Tharmeduil, calm yourself,' Govon said, trying desperately to avoid another smash to his face; the nose was broken, he was sure of it, pain exploding behind his eyes and spiking through his face. 'All is well, it's only I, Govon. Be still, now. Healer Nestoril is on her way…'

Tharmeduil's body stilled, shuddering now, trembling, his limbs spasming, but no longer trying to escape, to throw his head back. His moans and mutterings began to shape words, and Govon tried to encourage him, to understand, to hear.

'What is it, my prince? What would you say?'

'…have to go, go now, now, we must if we go we might out run them… but you will not go anywhere, you cannot ride like that… we must go, Nestoril, tell her, tell… while we wait, they come and so much death and legs and… he must not be there! If he has another bite… do not… not stay…'

'We cannot go yet; it is the middle of the second watch, and all is asleep…' Well, apart from those nearby, perhaps… 'Why must we go, my prince?'

'They are coming. They are coming. Trying the defence, too much , turned away… Ai! Tell… she will say to stay, but if we stay, we cannot outrun them… over the river, yes, once across… Do not let Ada go alone, he cannot go alone…! Ada! Do not…!'

'Hush. Be at peace; I will tell your father, do not fear… be calm, my prince.'

'What's going on? Govon?'

Legolas, at the opening of the tent. Bizarrely, Govon wanted to release his hold on Tharmeduil, to proclaim this wasn't what it seemed…

'Healer Nestoril told me to restrain your bother and calm him.' Govon tried to shrug. 'He is quite distressed.'

'I heard.' Legolas approached, his eyes growing anxious. 'Melleth-nin? What happened to your face?'

'The back of your brother's head happened to my face.' Govon sighed. 'I know he did not mean it…'

Tharmeduil convulsed in Govon's arms and then grew still. After a moment, he exhaled heavily and began to stir.

'What…? Legolas?'

'You've been ill again.' Legolas glanced over Tharmeduil at Govon. 'I think you can start to let go, now.'

Carefullly, Govon disengaged and pulled himself into a sitting position, trying to still support Tharmeduil as he did so and disregarding his own pain and the blood trickling down his face as he saw blood seeping from Tharmeduil's eyes and nose too.

'What…?'

Legolas shook his head and reached out to his brother.

'Come on. Sit up. I'll get your paper for you. You're ready, yes? You want to draw it now?'

Tharmeduil nodded weakly. 'My eyes… full of red… but it's the blue I want to draw, the blood of them… Look, this is important. The river… don't let father cross it on that elk of his; he's going to, he's going to want to try the jump, and it's not the distance… there's something in the woods on the far side, I see it waiting for him…'

'All right. If it matters to you, if I have to bribe the creature to pretend to be lame, or fit spikes to Father's seat, I'll do it.' Legolas found the paper and drawing sticks that were never these days far from Tharmeduil's side. 'Commander, I expect you want to reassure the rest of the camp we're not under attack.'

'At once, your highness.' Govon got to his feet, turning to leave. As he passed, Legolas reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers for a brief second, and he looked down and saw the compassion in his eyes.

'And you might want to ask Nestoril to look at your nose for you, too; Tharmeduil will be all right with me for a few minutes.'

'Thank you, my prince.'

Outside, he found his command all up and surrounding the tents of the court, weapons ready.

'Well done. You can stand down. Hador, if you would take your watch a little early, I need to get my face fixed…'

'Yes, Commander, of course… are you hurt?'

Obviously. But that wasn't what Hador meant, he knew. 'Collateral damage, that's all. The camp's secure. But we may be moving out early… or we may find we're here for another day, so be alert! I'll tell you more when I know more…'

'Commander Govon?' he heard Nestoril's voice, less soft than usual, and he hastened to assure her he hadn't deserted his post.

'Healer, one of the princes is with him; I was ordered to find you and ask what to do about this…' he gestured to the ruin of what he now realised had once been a very good nose…

'Come with me then…' She led him away from the guard, found a cloth, soused it with water from the canteen at her belt, and had him hold it over his nose. The cold stung, then began to soothe. 'Sit. And tell me?'

'The prince is calm, now. His eyes… it was…'

'Blood? Yes, that is how these fits take him, poor penneth… Did he have much to say?'

'He is adamant that his father the king not try to cross the river alone on elk-back; something in the forest, he says. And there was something about a delay – 'she', he said, would want to wait but there was danger in doing so, apparently, and it would be better not to wait.'

'Has he started drawing yet?'

'Yes, Prince Legolas is helping.'

'Good… so let me take a look… give me the cloth…' Nestoril patted delicately at the swelling flesh around Govon's nose and then ran her fingers down the bridge. He flinched. 'Forgive me! I know it is uncomfortable but I assure you it will soon be…' She pulled and tugged suddenly and Govon hissed in pain.

'Better,' she finished, laying her hand on his arm. 'Do forgive me; but it is done now and reset and I will give you this…' She took something from her belt pouch and folded it into a pad before laying it tenderly over his nose. 'By morning, it should be feeling – and looking – much better.'

'Thank you, Healer,' Govon said. 'I must report to the other commanders, but if you need me, seek me.'

She nodded and headed for Tharmeduil's tent, smiling as she entered and saw the two brothers together. Legolas looked much brighter than when she had previously seen him, but she didn't dwell, instead turning all her attention to his brother.

'You need to wipe your face, Tharmeduil,' she said. 'I can do it, if you don't wish to stop work?'

'No, it's fine, Nestoril,' he said. 'I've got the worst of it down.' He set aside his drawing sticks and turned so that she could wipe his eyes, his nose, clean the blood away. He kept as still as possible, trying not to let her see that his left hand was limp and useless, hoping the fact that he was seated would disguise the fact that he had no feeling in his left foot. 'There are two things; Legolas knows them. My father must be stopped, and… and we have to leave. You're going to want us to stay, I'm going to insist we leave or things will get bad, and while we spend time arguing about it we lose our chance of escape… so if you could just take it as read…?'

Nestoril smiled. 'We'll see. How are you feeling otherwise?'

'Fine, fine… the headache, of course, but that's fading. And… the back of my head is hurting, and I don't know what I could have hurt it on…'

'I do,' Legolas said, getting to his feet. 'My poor melleth's face; I'll leave you to it, Nestoril, I'm going back to my tent now. Goodnight.'


	60. Chapter 60: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Chapter Sixty: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy…**

Legolas fed dried blackberries, one at a time, to Nelleron, whispering gently in the giant elk's ear.

'And so, mellon-nin, will you do so for me? Will you do it for another of these? I know, I know you like the strawberries better, but I hear they give you flatulence, and that is hardly becoming in the steed of a king, is it?'

He scratched the elk behind one of its huge, furry ears, admiring the velvet-coated antlers.

'Remember, now, for me – and for Tharmeduil, who has promised you all the strawberries you could wish for, once we get home… do not jump the river with our Adar on your back. Do not. Refuse if you must…' Another blackberry found its way into the elk's mouth. 'Throw him over your amazing antlers into the river itself, if you have to; a sleeping king is better than an injured or a dead one, after all… but do not let him cross alone, dear Nelleron!'

'What's going on?'

Legolas turned at the voice. 'Hello, Arveldir. Once more you find me where you don't expect me… I was just feeding Nelleron some blackberries.'

'I can see that… may I ask why?'

Legolas was briefly tempted to pull himself up to his full height and inform the advisor he could ask… but it would not be far to play the prince with him; Arveldir was only doing his job…

Although why he was doing it near Nelleron, Legolas had no idea. He grinned.

Besides, sometimes if you told the truth in the right way, nobody believed you anyway…

'I could ask you the same. He likes them. And I was trying to bribe him to throw Adar into the river today.'

Arveldir shook his head, trying not to smile. 'And how old are you?'

'Old enough to know better, young enough not to care.'

Now Arveldir did smile; he laughed, in fact, opening his hand to show he, too, had a fistful of dried blackberries.

'Who convinced you?' he asked.

'Tharmeduil. I've got so used to him being right these last few weeks… you?'

'Healer Nestoril. But I am not sure how successful this will be; your father has made much of this animal's ability to leap across streams and brooks; Prince Tharmeduil's visions notwithstanding, I do not wish for your royal father to try Nelleron's abilities over the Enchanted River; it is asking for trouble.'

'What? He wants to try to jump the river?'

'Yes, indeed; while you and your brothers have been riding together, it has fallen to me to bear the king company at times… of course, we may not leave at all today, my prince, which might give more opportunity to dissuade the king.'

'But…' Legolas turned to stare at Arveldir, shaking his head. 'That's the point; we have to leave here today, we need to get across the river…'

'Healer Nestoril is against it, and you are not the only one who is keen to proceed. But it may be there are things you do not know yet.'

Legolas tipped his handful of blackberries into Arveldir's palm. 'Take over here for me, please.'

Commander Govon was having his first real leadership challenge and he had the feeling that it was actually quiet important that he win this one. Briefly he wondered whether he should have removed the patch of caul silk sticking to his nose; it would hardly enhance his sense of authority, but the truth was he had almost forgotten about it until now, with the other commanders' gaze on him dipping inadvertently from his eyes to his nose and back…

'You think we should what?' Commander Bregon asked.

'Send word down the line to the flets ahead and behind us, just to see if they've had any suggestion of spider activity. I have it on good information that there's likely to be an attack – possibly the migration trying to return again – and I feel we should take no chances…'

'But what's your source, Govon?' Esgaron asked.

'One that can be trusted… Prince Tharmeduil's visions…' He tried not to sigh in exasperation; he hadn't wanted to admit it. 'I recognise, Commanders, that this is unusual, but…'

'Unusual!' Bregon echoed. 'The nightime dreams of a sick prince?'

'The prince has had many such… insights of late, and there is a remarkable accuracy to them. I could cite incidents for you, I could take you to him and ask him to present the evidence himself – but it is wasting time. All I ask is that you send two scouts back, and ahead, to the rear and advance outposts, just as a precaution… Scouts in the canopy will not take much more than an hour each way, and we're at least that long from breaking camp…'

'I cannot agree that this is a good use of resources, Commander,' Bregon said. 'Besides, all know how near you came to death… it may well have left you somewhat biased…?'

Govon took in a deep breath, refusing to answer in anger.

'I admit I have little cause to love the arachnids, Commander Bregon. And I know you have had experience of this migrating horde as well. But I am sure I am being objective, here. If neither of you wish to support me in this, very well; I must take my prince's warning as a command to the Court Guard and I will send one of my number accordingly to the flet ahead of our position…'

'Look, if you feel so strongly about it, I'll send a couple to the outpost behind, too,' Esgaron said. He turned to Bregon with a shrug. 'Let us agree to differ, Commander; I will gladly defer to you in other matters, but Govon was in my command for long enough that I know he would not make such a suggestion lightly…'

Govon hid his relief, inclining his head towards his former commander.

'I am grateful, Commander. Please, do not send any who have been venom-sick in the last twelvemonth; the Healer warns me that a second bite or sting could react with the previous poison and the results be far more severe.'

'You're serious about this?' Bregon shook his head as he looked from Esgaron to Govon and back again. He huffed out a breath. 'Well… I will set point guards when we march. I will keep any such envenomed warriors towards the centre. But you, Govon – you can warn the Royal Court.'

'I'll see to it immediately, Commander. Thank you for hearing me out.'

'Healer Nestoril! Are you busy?' Legolas kept his voice neutral, friendly as she turned to smile at him from inside her tent.

'Not at present; will you step in? I hope you are well?'

'Thank you, quite well.'

She gestured him to sit on a folding stool.

'If it's about Commander Govon's nose, I can assure you it has been set and should return to its usual elegant profile within a day or so.'

'That's reassuring, Healer, but it's about my brother… I thought we were moving out this morning, at his particular request?'

'Oh. Oh, dear…' She glanced down and Legolas noticed she was doing that thing with her hands again, the twisting and writhing of her slender fingers. 'Well, after you left… he… he had another episode, unfortunately…'

'Why were we not informed?' Legolas began to rise to his feet, settled again as he saw Nestoril's pleading look.

'It is not yet breakfast time; I wished to wait until after, when I will assess him again. He… he tried too hard to see what would happen if his father crossed the river alone, if we waited out a day here, if… if Commander Govon leads the attack against the arachnids…'

'Nestoril? What about Govon?'

'Nothing; he is Commander of the Court Guard, that is all… really…' She glanced down at her hands and then Legolas saw her shoulders lift as she drew breath. 'Other than to say, it is important, if there are spiders, that he is not bitten or stung again; it could reactivate the venom from the previous incident and he could be taken more ill than even then… Be assured, he is aware of this, and understands the repercussions… but, also, he did not wish me to tell you as he feared you would worry…'

'Worry? Nestoril, I worried last time! I thought he would die in my arms, on that flet, and that was before I knew him! I could not…'

'…which I think is why he would have preferred you not to know.' She shrugged elegantly and rose to her feet. 'Come. You should see your brother and then you will understand.'

He followed after her, his concern rising as she held aside the tent flaps for him to go into Tharmeduil's tent. His brother was sitting upright, propped against the central tent post. He smiled when they entered, but Legolas noticed the left side of his mouth didn't lift as high, and his left arm hung, useless. He was much too pale.

'Good morning, brother,' he said, carefully, slowly, as if he feared his speech would be slurred. 'How long before we're off?'

'As soon as you can dress yourself and get onto your horse unaided,' Legolas said. 'Nelleron's been eating blackberries this morning, and both myself and Lord Arveldir have had a little chat with him about Father.'

Tharmeduil dropped his gaze. 'I… I'm not so well, this morning, as I was last night…'

'Nestoril said, yes. What happened?'

'Another one of those… attacks…' Tharmeduil gave a lopsided grimace. 'I was trying to sort something out in my head… and it got confusing and I think it jumped to some other time and there was me and Canadion and Thiriston stalking through the canopy and then they were… not… and…'

'And your brother did not call for me to assist him in sorting out the threads of the different visions,' Nestoril said with a reproach in her voice.

Legolas shook his head. 'Let me understand… when I parted from you last night, you had it clear; we would leave first thing and it would be fine. Or you would be ill and Nestoril would refuse to let us move and then we would not be fine. So instead of it being fine, and you leaving it there, you had to try to see further… '

'In spite of previous warnings not to push his limits,' Nestoril added.

'So, as a result, you've made yourself ill… and if you're too ill to travel, and we stay, your vision becomes real – but…' Legolas sighed. 'But only because you've made yourself ill by trying too hard… you fulfil your own prophecy…'

'I'll be fine in an hour or so. I was last time…'

Nestoril compressed her lips together; last time she'd visited the grove of the fëar trees and bound caul silk around Tharmeduil's tree. She couldn't do that from here.

'Last time wasn't as bad,' Legolas pointed out. 'Why do we not assume we'll be leaving, and prepare for the journey in any case? That way, if you're recovered, good, there is less time wasted…'

'But we must go!'

'Then you need to be able to ride, brother! And for that you'll need clothes, at least!'

Govon called his command together outside his tent as soon as they'd finished eating breakfast.

'There's a chance we might have to do some real work today. Tinuon, have you ever been spider-sick?'

'Sick of them? Aye. From the venom of them, no. I've been lucky.'

'You say that now, but it's just let you in for a different task this morning… I want you to head for the next flet, through the canopy, quick as you might. Ask the guards if they've had any hint – even a sniff – of spiders…'

'Commander?'

'If they've had nothing, put them on alert and get back to us – if you can…'

'Are you expecting an attack?' Thiriston asked.

'Not so much expecting… but it's a possibility the spiders will try again to cross the road, perhaps in the region near the river; consider, they've been constantly driven back from their original crossing point, they're not so blindly stupid they can't replan their route. Hador, Tegolon – I need you on close guard of the court. Archery only; I'm told that if you get revenomed, you'll suffer for it!' He heard Tegolon groan, and grinned in sympathy. 'So watch yourselves. Thiriston, Canadion; if we are attacked, watch out for each other and the court. You'll know from the weapons practice we had that a couple of them are handy in a fight. But Prince Tharmeduil is unwell today and so won't be able to fight.'

'If there are queens with eggs, Commander, what do we do?'

'If the court's safe, standing orders are to try to secure the cauls. But no heroics; I might need you later. Any more questions? No? Good. Dismissed. Tinuon – watch yourself.'

'Of course, Commander.' His second grinned. 'I'll be back before you've had time to miss me.'


	61. Chapter 61: Towards the River

Wids 61 Towards the River

'My lord Arveldir?'

The king's advisor halted, waiting for Commander Govon to catch up with him.

'Good day, Commander. You want to speak to me?'

'Indeed.' Govon fell into step beside him. Now here, it was difficult to know how to phrase his concerns. 'There is a matter I need to bring to your attention which cannot wait for the evening report; new information has come to me and I suspect there may be a significant increase in arachnid activity today. Every precaution will be put in place to protect the royal court, naturally, but it is vital that if we are to do our job effectively, the royal family and its attendants are not separated…'

'You've been listening to Prince Tharmeduil?'

'It is not only his insights, my lord. It is… the forest is not at ease this morning. There is a heaviness in the air, a darkness beneath the branches. The trees are restless…' About to give an apologetic shrug, he stopped himself. 'There are those amongst us who know the forest, who can read its airs and there is a sense of being poised… If it is at all possible, we should cross the river today.'

'I concur,' Arveldir said, noting the swiftly-disguised surprise in the commander. 'If Prince Tharmeduil is well enough to sit on a horse, we will be underway in a half-hour. I will pass on this extra information to the king and make sure the rest of our party understand.'

'My thanks, Lord Arveldir. Should an attack come, it is likely that the more dangerous arachnids will be part of the central section of the advance. These should be avoided at all cost and we will strive to our limits to keep the court safe.'

The forest was uneasy.

Canadion and Thiriston, taking a short, private stroll when they should have been packing up their bedrolls, noticed it, and Canadion drew closer to the big warrior.

'What if he's right, this prince with foresight? What if there are spiders again?'

'I'll look out for you, don't worry. Come, we all have our fears. You know this. Being able to face them, daily, that is bravery. Not how many you kill, but how hard it is for you to face your fear.'

'Couldn't I go and fight some orcs somewhere?'

Thiriston laughed, casting an arm around Canadion's shoulder. 'Maybe I can take your mind off it?'

'I'd like that. But the trees would interrupt. They're worried.' He stopped walking and leaned back against a tree trunk. 'Perhaps you could try, anyway?'

The forest was distressed.

Nestoril noticed it, sensing the sharpness in the notes of the birdcalls, the acid tang to the chemicals released by the leaves of the trees as she sought a particular plant, known for its calming properties. She shook her head.

'The trees are disturbed,' Legolas told Iauron, as they walked towards Tharmeduil's tent together. 'Watch yourself. Watch Tharmeduil.'

'You worry too much!'

'And you do not worry at all. Which may make you happy, but also makes you vulnerable.'

'Vulnerable? Me?'

'And those around you; Iauron, you never stop to think about what might happen as a result of your actions, and so things happen as a result… and other people get caught up in that.' Legolas found a small smile for his brother. 'Never mind. It just strikes me as odd that the oldest of us sometimes seems the youngest.'

'Tharmeduil! Are you decent?' Iauron called out as they approached the tent.

'Come in.'

As he followed Iauron into the tent, Legolas found his eyes seeking Tharmeduil anxiously; his voice had sounded… better. And to Legolas' relief, the smile on his face was more even.

'How are you?' Iauron asked, and Tharmeduil nodded.

'Better than I was… much better. I should be able to ride, if you can get me up onto a horse…'

'Let's go, then,' Iauron said, and turned away, and so didn't spot the flare of panic in Tharmeduil's eyes.

Legolas went over and held out his hands.

'Come on. Just until you get to your feet.'

'I'll be fine, once I get moving…'

Tharmeduil allowed Legolas to put his shoulder under his own and support him while he staggered and lurched to the tent opening. Iauron, outside, shook his head.

'Ai, if this is you better, I'm glad I didn't see you sooner! Are we heading for the horses?'

'Yes,' Tharmeduil said, trying to stand unaided and almost buckling; Legolas kept close. 'Come on. We have to get moving!'

'Oh, my…!' Nestoril came up. 'Tharmeduil! Are you sure you can walk?'

'I… am… fine!' Tharmeduil insisted through gritted teeth.

'No, you're not,' Iauron said, coming to his other side.

But Tharmeduil battled on, and it did seem to Legolas that the more he walked, the less uncontrolled his movements became, until, by the time they got to the horses, he was just about walking unaided.

His horse was brought, and willing hands prepared to help him into the saddle, but the horse snorted and backed away.

'Horse, come back! I can ride!'

'Clearly, your mount does not believe so…'

Everyone froze at the sound of King Thranduil's voice, except for Tharmeduil's horse, which made the most of the opportunity to sidle further away.

'But, Adar…!'

'Tharmeduil. Ion-nin.' Thranduil laid his hand on his son's shoulder. 'I saw you during the night when the fit was on you. I saw you at daybreak, as Healer Nestoril tried to awaken you. And although I do not doubt your courage and determination, and while I can see you are greatly improved, still I do not trust you to sit on a horse without falling off.'

'Father… '

'And so you will ride with me,' Thranduil went on decisively. 'Nelleron is more than strong enough to bear us both and has a much longer back than our horses. You will sit before me and if you look like to fall, I will prevent it.'

The king stepped forward and put his own arm around his middle son, slowly leading him off to where Nelleron was waiting.

'Nelleron has confided in me that it is your doing, ion-nin, that he has been visited with gifts of dried blackberries this morning, and so he wishes to repay the favour.'

'Adar? You… your elk talks to you?'

Thranduil glanced over his sons head to exchange glances with Lord Arveldir, returning to the conversation earlier that morning…

_He had gone to make sure Nelleron was well, and had seen his advisor with the elk._

'_What are you doing, Arveldir?'_

'_My king, I am feeding dried blackberries to Nelleron.'_

'_Indeed, but why?'_

'_Because dried strawberries have an unfortunate effect on his digestive processes…'_

'_Quite. But why are you feeding him at all…?'_

_And, not without some regret, Arveldir had explained about Tharmeduil's concerns for his father, and Thranduil had remembered Nestoril saying it were better for his son not to become overanxious about his visions and, well, that had led to this…_

'Let us say we understand one another. Come.' Thranduil released his son briefly while he mounted, reaching down to grab Tharmeduil's forearm and pull him up to sit before him. 'Ah, ion-nin, I remember the last time I set you in front of me on a steed. You were far smaller, then.'

Behind the king, the rest of the court mounted up and the Court Guard assembled.

'Are we one missing this morning, Commander Govon?' the king asked.

'Indeed, your majesty; as I reported to Lord Arveldir, my second has gone ahead to confer with the guard at the next flet.'

'And… are you quite well today, Commander?' The king glanced from the patch of caul silk on Govon's face to his youngest son and back again.

'Yes, your majesty; an unfortunate training incident. I await your orders, my king?'

'When you're ready, Commander Govon, move out.'

Commander Bregon came to ride beside Govon for a moment.

'Esgaron's scout hasn't made it back yet. That's why he's staying to break camp.'

'Nothing from Tinuon, either. And the trees…'

'Are restless. Still, while there's birdsong…'

'True.'

They had been under way for almost half an hour before a whistled signal came from the side of the trail and Tinuon descended from the canopy. Bregon joined Govon to hear the report.

'Commanders, the forward position is secure… but the watch is uneasy. The forest feels… alert, anxious.'

'Yes. We noticed, also.'

'The river crossing is prepared for. A large and stable raft has been assembled to take the horses – and the elk – across, and rope walks slung between the tree canopy on both sides. I requested that two or three of the watch cross and take up positions on the far side, but they didn't seem keen and, really, I had no authority…'

'No, it's all right. Thank you, Tinuon. Get mounted up now.'

Presently, Commander Govon found Healer Nestoril at his side.

'When we next stop, Commander, I'll take that dressing off for you and check how you're healing. How does it feel?'

'More embarrassing than painful, Healer, my thanks.'

'When we get to the river, may I have your help with something? Of one of your warrior's help? I wish to collect some of the water; I can distil it, and use it in sleeping draughts and pain-relief…'

'Of course, Healer. We're not far away, now.'

The halt at the river was an uneasy one for Govon. There was not much space between the trees and the river, and there was not enough room to gather and keep everyone in sight. None of the guards on the flet had crossed the river, although they were keen to explain it was only because they did not want to abandon their posts. Commander Esgaron and the guards packing up the camp had still not caught up, and Commander Bregon thought it would be a good idea to wait for them before beginning to cross, while, given the lack of space, Govon privately thought they would do better to have some of the guard cross the river, or at least be up in the canopy near the rope bridge.

Still, it gave chance for Nestoril to remove the dressing from his nose and to assert that, but for a little bruising, it was fine, would be back to normal by tomorrow, for Legolas to raise his eyebrows in a look that suggested he didn't believe it himself, and for some of the guard to have collected several clearly-labelled flasks of river water for the Healer's stores.

Thranduil dismounted from Nelleron's back and helped Tharmeduil down so that he could walk a little and try to get some mobility back into his limbs. Legolas thought he saw his father looking ruefully at the river, as if wishing he could get back on the elk and try the jump, but instead, he led the animal around for Tharmeduil to remount, and brought him close to the raft to acclimatise him to it, stroking the velvet face of the beast, and murmuring to him gently.

Bregon was just starting to mutter and look back down the trail when Esgaron and four of the six warriors he'd had with him came into view.

'No word from the scout I sent back,' Esgaron said. 'I've sent two more back to look.'

'We'd better not linger,' Bregon said.

The woods fell silent.

The trees back from the path began to shiver and stir and one of the lookouts in the flet gave a cry.

'Lhingril!'

_Spiders…_


	62. Chapter 62: Elrond Rides Out

On a late May morning, the bells of Imladris tolled, summoning its inhabitants to bid farewell to their lord and his family as they set off for their momentous meeting with the Royal House of Mirkwood.

All the knights of the house were there, mounted on their gleaming steeds, some in burnished armour, others with long spears, all with flowing cloaks draping over the rumps of their mounts. Elrond, in his burgundy armour and his braided head held high and proud, rode beside his daughter Arwen, her grey palfrey doing a genteel little dance and discommoding her rider, who was busy trying to find out if one could crochet on horseback. Her twin brothers sat quietly on their horses, matched sentinels, both still and silent for once. Healer Feril and Elrond's advisor Erestor were there, too, accompanied by the minstrel, Lindir, since it was hoped that the occasion of the meeting of the elves from East and West of Hithaeglir would be a cause for song.

With them went various attendants, cooks, ladies-in-waiting and a baggage train worthy of a six-month expedition to the furthest ends of Middle Earth, not just across the mountains and the plain and back. But the closer it had got to the time of departure, the more Arwen had pleaded for just one more little trunk of clothes, and then all her gifts to the Royal House and…

And, to his surprise, Elrond had found that it mattered. It was important to him that he travel in pride and dignity and to look clean and tidy when he arrived at the eyot with his family and his knights around him. He wanted to show Mirkwood that, although he was half-elven, not full, although he was not Sindar, still, peredhel though he was, he was master of Imladris and its Noldor, while all Thranduil had for subjects were wild and superstitious wood-elves…

Not that he would say anything of the sort, of course. He wanted to be fair, equitable, friends to all, but sometimes it was difficult not to feel just a little defensive, not when he had a nagging sense that, decades ago while Legolas had been visiting, Imladris had behaved not quite as well as it should towards Mirkwood's prince.

No. it was more that he simply wanted to meet as equals, to hope the implied offence had not been as offensive as he feared, that it had been forgotten, disregarded, not noticed, and the best way to ensure this happened was for himself to behave as if all was well and to ride out in pride and dignity and perhaps just a little pomp.

The horns sounded, and Elrond rode out.

Their path lay cross the High Pass, but it had been a warm, bright spring and so, although Elrond expected it to be cold (and his human blood made him too aware of the cold for his own comfort) yet there should be little snow ahead of them. His scouts had reported fewer orcs than expected, particularly in the north, which was a comfort, and that warg activity, too, was at an all-time low.

Elrond was in no hurry, although that first morning he set a good pace so that they all felt the sense of leaving their home behind quickly. He had discussed protocol with Erestor until he had felt like strangling his advisor.

'It would be impolite to arrive first at the eyot,' Erestor had said. 'King Thranduil will have had a hard march through Mirkwood and will need time to gather himself. And he is, of course, a king.'

'True. But we could be there to welcome him.'

'That will not do. As the would-be bride is of our party, it shows her to be modest and becoming for her company to hold back.'

'Erestor, we both know that if Arwen were at all modest, we would not be contemplating this union now!'

'Perhaps. But do we want all of Imladris and of Mirkwood to guest at it, also?'

'You could be right. But…'

'If it matters so much to the pride of Imladris, my lord, might I suggest that we camp within a half-day's march of the eyot? That way there will be plenty of opportunity to see where the Mirkwood company is, and time our arrival so that they know they have got there first, but are also aware that you have waited for them. Perhaps that suits all the niceties and soothes our own pride?'

Elrond had thought for a moment.

'Yes… that will do well, Erestor. Once more you show your worth.'

Of course, travelling through the passes of Hithaeglir was not an exact science; the weather had been good, but there was no guarantee it would hold. And the orcs had been slumbering… but one could not be sure they would not wake up more stupid than usual and decide to attack a large band of well-armed elvish knights… horses could fall lame, Arwen could insist on staying somewhere random for a day just so she could dance amongst the flowers…

Elrond shook his head to himself. Sometimes, it felt as if Arwen was trying to out-elf all the elven maidens who had ever been before… idly he wondered whether his own peredhel ancestry was to blame for bringing out this fey side to her. On the other hand, it could actually be quite entertaining to see her try to charm the thrushes to sing with her. After all, she hadn't learned to speak thrush yet, and had no notion that their lovely song had been their way of telling her to go away and sing with the carrion crows whose voices were more tonally matched to her own.

He glanced across at Arwen now, frowning in concentration as she tried to ride and ply her crochet hook at the same time. From the protruding tongue, and the wobbly appearance of whatever it was she was attempting to make, it was not going well.

'Arwen, my dear child,' he said, making his voice kind. 'When we stop to rest the horses, there will be plenty of time then for needlecraft. Why do you not set aside your work and enjoy the scenery? We will be coming to a vale soon where the bluebells flower late, and I know how you enthuse about the bluebells in our own woods.'

'Oh!' Arwen glanced up, startled at being so addressed. But seeing only kindness in her father's eyes, she smiled. 'Well, since you say so… but I wanted to get this finished…'

'And what lovely thing are you making now, dear daughter?'

'Bow-strings. I thought, they are such dull colours mainly, grey and brown and black, and I hear Mirkwood is dark, and so why not brighten the bows of their archers up a little? Red is such a good colour for a warrior. Or yellow, to mimic the sun…'

Elrond held back on a lecture about the importance for an archer of being able to blend into the landscape. 'Why not green?' he suggested. 'It reflects all growing things, and one who lives so near to nature as our Sindar and Silvan friends do will surely appreciate green…'

Arwen smiled happily.

'And I will make you a set, too, Adar, in the brightest of blue to match the glory of the cloudless sky.'

Ai, Valar! He smiled and nodded his thanks and allowed his horse to fall back so that he was riding closer to his sons, and fervently hoped he would never have to prove his paternal affection by actually using a blue-strung bow.


	63. Chapter 63: River Crossing

Spiders!

Bregon and Esgaron began yelling orders, trying to gather and order their warriors. Govon, finding himself close to Nestoril and Arveldir, laid his hand quickly on Nestoril's arm, glad his command already knew who was to protect whom.

'Healer, you and Lord Arveldir are to be under the care of Hador and Tegolon. Please, take no risks.' He nodded at the approaching Hador. 'That goes for you and Tegolon, also; protect your charges, but do not engage the arachnids unless you must. Be well.'

He turned away to see whether Tinuon had reached his charge yet; he'd given Legolas into his care, himself planning on supporting Tharmeduil. But as he turned, a shout from the river crossing point drew his attention. He slid through the trees, heading for the bank and aware that the trees overhead were beginning to shake and stir and darken.

Nelleron had smelled the approaching spiders and was frantic, panicking and trying to bolt while King Thranduil held on to the bridle and tried to soothe him, aware of Tharmeduil's precarious hold on the elk's back. Govon started towards them, intending to help, as Nelleron caught sight of a spider in the canopy and leapt towards the river, Thranduil having to choose between letting go, or running with him. The king chose to stay with the elk and his son, and when Nelleron leapt for the raft, he jumped too, silver-blond hair flying behind him as he tried to keep Tharmeduil safe on the elk's back. The impetus of the landing caused the raft to rock and tilt and push off slowly from the bank.

A glance showed Govon that Iauron was with Thiriston and Canadion, and the knowledge freed him. He cleared the cover of the trees and took a running jump for the raft.

Commander Govon hadn't been the only one alerted by the shout; Legolas, too, had looked round and watched with dismay as he saw his father and Tharmeduil, followed by Govon, board the raft which continued its slow drift into the centre channel of the enchanted waters. His only thought being that Govon couldn't risk a second spider-bite, he hurtled towards the bank and leapt out towards him. For a heartbeat, a fragment of a heartbeat, he feared he was going to fall short, but then Govon reached out and pulled him aboard.

'Pe-channas!'

'Ha! Your pe-channas!'

'When you have quite finished…' Thranduil cut in.

Legolas hurried to the other side of Nelleron's head, taking the bridle and hushing the animal gently. 'Do you have him now, Adar?'

'He is calmer. Yes. Commander Govon, we appear to be drifting…?'

'My king, a moment…' Govon uncoiled a line from his pack and attached one end to an arrow which he cast by hand over the rope bridge above their heads, snatching at the arrow as it descended again before it could hit the water. He twisted the line and secured both ends to opposite corners of the raft.

'Do you intend to keep us in the middle of the river, Commander?' Thranduil asked

'My king, the only thing I know for sure about the far bank is that none of our warriors are there yet; at least here we have good visibility for shooting…' He turned to look back towards the bank. Amongst the darkness under the trees, he could see the shapes of movement, and high in the trees the branches began to sway and thrash as the spiders began to attempt to cross the river and started to fall and die as Esgaron and Bregon's archers got to work. He readied his bow and watched as Legolas, too, nocked his first arrow…

…and as the spiders broke cover and tried the river crossing, he realised that the rope walkway to which he had tethered the raft would provide just as good a bridge for the spiders as it had been intended to be for themselves…

But first onto the rope way was Tinuon, running almost casually along, slowing as he passed over the raft to call down to his Commander.

'We'll keep them back from the far side, since you have our charges under your care. There are many, many more spiders than we expected.'

'Be safe,' Govon said, aiming with care as Thiriston, pushing Canadion ahead of him, gained the bridge. Tinuon carried on to the trees on the west bank and took up a station there.

Intent on the east bank, Govon heard Canadion's quick voice, Thiriston's answering growl, spared a quick glance up as they passed over, causing the tethering line to dip and the raft to sway. But cutting loose wasn't an option; the raft would drift with the current and possibly become more unstable.

The first searching spider limb found the rope bridge and pulled onto it, swarming along the lowest line. Govon allowed Legolas the courtesy of the first shot, and the arrow sped straight and true into the inverted face. For a fraction of a heartbeat it clung, legs cupping together, before it realised it was dead and fell onto the riverbank.

More spiders followed onto the bridge, some on the underlines, some the side ropes, and Govon took his first shot, flinching as from the east bank he heard an elvish cry of pain.

Arrows from the west bank showed Govon's three were in place and fighting; he and Legolas joined in, timing their shots between each other's in an attempt to hold back the arachnids. Spiders spasmed and clutched and fell into the river, each causing a splash and a wake that rocked the raft.

On the east bank, Govon could hear the company fighting, hear Bregon and Esgaron shouting orders and so knew the moment when the guard spiders hit.

Behind him he heard Tharmeduil draw his breath in, startled at the size of the creatures.

'My prince, my king, these are the more dangerous ones. Believe me, it would be better for you to cast yourselves into the river than to be stung by the queen's guard…'

'I am relying on you, Commander, to see that it will not be necessary!' Thranduil said sharply, trying to turn Nelleron so the elk was looking away from the spiders.

The larger spiders began to advance along the rope bridge, clustering together in front of the greater form of the first queen. From the west bank, Thiriston called out a question.

'Govon! Are there eggs?'

'There's a caul,' Govon said, and loosed an arrow at the first guard spider, hitting it through the nerve node between head and thorax. It flailed, partially dislodging its companion, which Legolas' shot took out. Both fell, and the occupants of the raft got a clear look at the queen as more guards swarmed up, over her body, to protect her.

She was huge, her body bigger than that of the king's elk. Her great abdomen was a pearlescent purple and over it was cast a caul bulging with eggs. By herself she would have made the rope bridge dip, but with the combined weights of the queen and the guard, it swung low, too low for comfort.

'If we can't get some weight off the rope, they're going to be within biting range when they reach us,' Govon said.

'The elk will panic.' Legolas shot again, taking out another of the guards.

Govon shot, killed once more. 'If it comes to it, let him panic. As long as your brother gets off his back first…'

'I will not sacrifice my elk to a nest of spiders!' Thranduil announced.

More guards replaced the latest casualties. Shots from the east bank had stopped heading over the river; the queen was too close to the raft now to risk it. From the west bank, too, the firing eased.

'Prince Tharmeduil, have you a knife?' Govon asked, loosing another arrow.

'Yes...'

'Good. We may have to cut loose of the bridge; can you do that, if I give word?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Please, can you dismount? You're too tall a target up there.'

In spite of their losses, the guard spiders kept coming, kept advancing the queen slowly across the river. It seemed no matter how many guards fell – and Govon was sure he counted eight drop dead into the water – they were replaced.

The rope bridge dipped at the other end of its anchorage, sending a tremor through the lines that made the advancing guards and queen sway and bounce. The queen jerked out two limbs to regain purchase, lifting her head above the cover of the guards, and Legolas fired, straight through one eye. But though the shot was true, the arrow passed out again without delivering a killing wound, and as the queen rocked and thrashed in pain, the guards swarmed over her towards the raft, seeing the enemy.

'Hold them there! Hold them!' Thiriston called.

Govon rolled his eyes; he would have to have words with this one later on… but the reason for the dip in the rope became clear; Thiriston was making his way along it, pausing every few steps to deliberately bounce the line. Behind him, muttering, Canadion followed.

'Release the rope on the far corner,' Thiriston said, coming nearer, almost within reach of where the tethering line crossed over the bridge rope. 'And 'ware the guards!'

Govon shot repeatedly at the guard spiders, aware he was down to his last hand-count of arrows. They fell, the queen continued to flail, more guards appeared…

'Commander, we have the tether; Canadion's going to pass it back to Tinuon and we'll tow you across to the bank…'

Govon bit back a sigh. While Nelleron was on the raft, there was a danger of the elk losing his nerve again and unbalancing them, and it was his duty to protect the King and Prince Tharmeduil, so he saw the necessity. But it irked him to back away from the fight.

Spiders were pressing against the edge of the forest now, high in the canopy, seeking other ways across the river. Above, the injured queen was shaking in her grip on the ropes and more guard spiders clustered around.

The tether was freed from one corner of the raft and Thiriston leaned in to grab it, undo the twist and pass it back to Canadion. A tug, and the raft began to slide away through the water while, overhead, the big warrior held the bridge.

…Good. Now he could stop worrying about his Commander and his king… although, as he reached to his belt for one of his throwing knives, he did hope Thranduil was watching as he tumbled it through the air to thunk into the head of one of the guard spiders. Lost, of course, as the spider fell into the river taking his knife with it, but…

The queen looked to be losing her fight for life. Thiriston sighed; he'd wanted Canadion to be able to get the caul.

'Thiriston!'

The voice was below, behind him; he saw Govon and Legolas on the raft, pushing off from the bank again and drifting the raft towards him. Behind, on the rope bridge, Canadion followed, tugging at the tether of the raft.

He shook his head. 'I thought you were going to guard the king!'

'Ai, his royal self told me in no uncertain terms to make myself scarce! Tinuon's got him. Well, are you ready? I know you're just dying to play with that axe of yours again!'

Thiriston laughed. 'You know me so well! Just… stay close, yes?'

'Yes.'

'Take out the guard by her left hind…'

Below, the raft drifted…

Thiriston dug deep into the spring of the bridge, using it to power himself in a leap that took him over in a somersault to land behind the guard spiders and at the back of the queen's head. His axe swung, severing the abdomen, and he pushed himself into a backflip that took him back to where he'd started on the bridge. He missed his footing on one side, causing the bridge to yaw and the rest of the dead queen's body to tumble down. Behind him, Canadion dropped down onto the raft and stripped the caul, releasing the eggs and the abdomen of the queen into the river. The guard spiders advanced on Thiriston, but his axe swung again, shearing off extremities and shattering limbs and a spider fell, mouthparts snapping, onto the raft beneath. White knives flashed, buried themselves, reappeared, and the body was flung off into the water.

On the raft, Govon grabbed at Legolas.

'I'm meant to be protecting you, pe-channas! Let me do my job!'

'Be my guest.'

More spider body-parts began to tumble and drop as Thiriston's axe swirled and the three on the raft hurried to clear the space.

'Ai, I think I liked it better when we had an elk to manage!'

'Not to mention a king!'

Thiriston's voice came down.

'Will you chat later? There's another queen coming…'

'Another?'

'Another two.'

And no more guard spiders; either they had fled the queens and their allotted task, or all were dead.

One of Govon's final arrows found the abdomen of the second queen; it exploded in blue blood and the queen's forelimbs scrabbled at the queen ahead of her, pulling her off-balance and causing her to raise her head, presenting a nice target for Thiriston's axe.

'Stand back…!'

Both bodies landed on the raft, tipping it dangerously. Canadion slid and slipped in the blue blood splattering the surface; only Legolas shooting out a swift hand saved him from a dipping in the narcotic-rich river. Again, he gathered the cauls and disposed of the eggs. Legolas looked away as they were consigned to the waters.

'That's it. Bridge is clear. Looks like we've beaten them off,' Thiriston called. 'Do you want a tow to the bank?'

'Indeed. And well done.' Govon turned to Canadion. 'That goes for you, also; well done for keeping calm. Three cauls you harvested today, and I fear we may need them in the weeks ahead. The west bank, please, Thiriston – we need to look to our king.'


	64. Chapter 64: Regrouping

Every time she'd heard an elf cry out, Nestoril had flinched, wanting to go to them, to see what was wrong, to help. Instead she'd stared into the darkness of the forest, drawing nearer to Arveldir for comfort, and tried to see what was happening.

Hador and Tegolon crouched with them in the dubious shelter of the roots of an ancient oak, bows taut, arrows nocked. The voices of the two commanders, ordering the fight on the riverbank, sounded out clear and strong… but what of Govon? His voice was not heard, and from where she was, Nestoril had no idea what had become of him.

The trees overhead rustled and swayed, their chemical signals bitter with alarm. The whistled song of arrows released from bows, the thuds and crashes as spiders tumbled down from on high. One landed within arm's reach of the hiding place, and Nestoril had shivered, watching its limbs twitch as it died.

'It is but a small one,' Hador had said, and, indeed, the body of the spider was not much bigger than that of a fox, although its legs were easily twice that. 'And not a guard spider, not the worst.'

'Ai, I do not think I properly realised what our warriors have to cope with,' she said softly. 'How brave you need to be…'

'My naneth used to say to me,' Tegolon said, 'that no matter how courageous a warrior I was, I would never be as brave as she, for she went through the birth of me after already having borne an older sister for me first…'

Nestoril smiled, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood.

Suddenly, Hador's bow sang, and a spider fell through the trees to land some small distance away.

'Well shot, Hador!' Tegolon said. 'And now I must shoot, so I can earn my day's keep!'

He had his chance a few moments later as one of the arachnids passed overhead; a clean shot, straight through the nerve cluster at the narrowest point of the creature's body; it fell, dead before it hit the ground.

Gradually, the sounds of fighting, of the stir of the trees diminished, and Commander Esgaron called out that the danger had passed.

'Now we regroup,' Hador said. 'To the river bank, Healer, Lord Arveldir; we must report to our Commander.

They emerged from cover and were making their way towards the crossing point when Nestoril heard her name called by one of the few female voices amongst the warriors.

'Healer Nestoril! Where is the Healer?'

'I am here!'

Celeguel, she of the wrist broken during the first migration of the spiders, now approached.

'Healer, we have a few injured, if you will help?'

'Of course! Lead on.'

Really, it was surprising so few had been hurt; several warriors, including two of the outpost guards from the flet, had been stung, and there were a few others with skin missing as a result of silk whiplash injuries. Nestoril moved amongst them gently, offering comfort and applying dressings to the visible trauma before turning to those who had suffered stings, looking for the puncture wounds…

It was a relief to find each warrior had but one entry point for the venom. One puncture meant a sting, such as a hunting spider would use to immobilise its prey, and used only as a defence in dire need; two would signify fangs, and therefore the bite of a guard spider, far more dangerous.

'I will make up a draught for you that will help with the pain and the sickness,' she said, stroking back the hair of one of the spider-stunned warriors and turning him onto his side. 'Celeguel? Have whoever attends them keep them warm and give sips of water. It will take a little while to prepare the draught they will need.'

'Of course, Healer.'

Nestoril got to her feet and brushed herself down.

'Excellent. Now, has anybody seen Prince Tharmeduil?'

Thranduil thought his heart would break. Helplessness surged in him as he held his son while Tharmeduil shook and shivered and said strange things, curled up almost in a ball on the ground beneath the trees on the far side of the Enchanted River. Nelleron, hitched to a tree nearby, snorted and pawed the ground, but Thranduil was too busy with his son. He knelt behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his hair, trying to soothe and calm him, but the prince seemed oblivious. Tinuon had muttered something about a watch, and had gone to the bank, affording the king some privacy at least.

'Come, Tharmeduil,' Thranduil said in his gentlest tones. 'Be at peace. All is well.'

'Not… not well. Here now, now what? It's dark… for days, it's dark…'

'It will be well, ion-nin. You have seen this, you have recorded it. Nestoril has told me, you have seen that we will be well. So now, be calm. If it is dark, it will be light again, be assured of it.'

'Light again… great brightness, like a huge, burning fire… firelight, firebright… that's wrong, I know it is… You didn't do it, though? You didn't cross alone, you'd be sick by now if you had, spider sick, or dead, perhaps… they would have been so angry and you all alone… but you were not alone…'

'Hush, now. You did well, Tharmeduil. You prevented my crossing without companionship.'

'Not alone. Ada, you must not ever feel you are alone…'

Thranduil's throat closed up around a huge lump of choking emotion, and it was a few moments before he could free his voice.

'Ai, ion-nin, I do not understand this illness of yours! If you had a visible injury, I could bind it… but such as this, it is beyond me!'

'My king?' Tinuon called from the bank. 'The raft approaches; the Healer is on board and the two princes with my Commander.'

Thranduil collected himself, remembering he was not only a father, but a king also.

'Very good, Tinuon. And thank you for your care of us.'

'I was afraid of something like this!' Nestoril hurried off the raft and over to Tharmeduil, lifting him into her arms with gentle concern. 'Penneth? It is I, Nestoril… are you well, Tharmeduil?'

'He was talking about darkness and fire,' Thranduil said. 'After which he grew calmer.'

Nestoril looked up. 'I think the worst of it has passed; he is unconscious now, as is the way, or deeply sleeping.' Carefully she laid him on his side, making a pillow of her cloak for his head. 'He was so afraid of what would happen, were you to be alone on this side of the river, my king. But now you are here, and not alone, the future has been changed and so your son is adrift, trying to find his place in the world of his foresight once more. Now, I must begin preparing draughts. Will someone find a place to make a fire? And will one punt me back across? I must get to my medicine store…'

Govon, who had poled the raft over the river, nodded. 'Aye, Healer, I'll take you. Tinuon, do you make the fire for when the Healer returns.'

'Nestoril? Before you leave…' Thranduil caught the healer's attention. 'What of other casualties?'

She smiled and tipped her head. 'Not nearly so many as there could have been, my king, and no-one seriously hurt. Four were stung, and there are several with skin lacerations.'

'Thank you. Pass on my best wishes for their recovery. Commander Govon, when convenient to all commanders and to Arveldir, please have them present themselves to me here to deliver their reports. I will not leave my son.'

'Of course, my king. Healer, if you're ready?'

Within an hour, the Court Guard had crossed over the bridge, and with help from some of the honour guard, established camp for the court. Nestoril returned, and oversaw Tharmeduil's removal to his tent when she laid him carefully on his bedroll and pronounced that the prince had passed into a proper sleep, now, and should wake soon.

'If you wish, my king,' she said. 'I will sit with him while you hear from your Commanders.'

'Nestoril, I am grateful.'

It was difficult to pay proper attention; Thranduil hoped someone was making notes, because although he kept his expression calmly attentive, his mind kept wandering back to his son, his words…

'_Not alone. Ada, you must not ever feel you are alone…'_

'… system is obviously flawed!' Esgaron was complaining. 'All well and good to establish a three-flet line, but when the guards on the lead flet are ordered not to advance to the next position before they have been relieved by the guard from the previous one, and the relief does not come…! So that now we are across this river with no occupied guard flet – no flet at all established above us, for that matter, and…'

Thranduil tuned out.

'It's early in the day yet. We can easily establish a flet above our position here,' Bregon said. 'That's assuming we'll be staying here while our injured recover?'

'I understand Healer Nestoril believes it would be wise,' Arveldir agreed. 'It is to be hoped that further arachnid incursion is unlikely, at least for the moment.'

'And waiting here for a day or so would give time to send a small group of warriors back to the preceding flets – Commander Esgaron's scout is still not accounted for,' Govon said. 'Emergency medical treatments could also go back with such a party.'

'I'll send from my ranks, then,' Esgaron said. 'But they'll need an hour or so to regain some sense of calm.'

'What else is there to report?'

'Clear up is well under way; although the river will carry some unpleasant burdens away downstream… we are aware that two queens escaped with cauls intact, but they appeared to be very young eggs… it was unfortunate, but pressed as we were on the bank…'

'Commander Esgaron, do not concern yourself with two that escaped, not when our joint efforts destroyed a further eight, of which we secured seven cauls; the eighth was, unfortunately, lost to the river with the body of the associated queen…'

'Healer Nestoril will be pleased,' Arveldir said. 'What do the Commanders suggest with regard to the main encampment?'

Esgaron glanced at the other two. 'We have agreed it between us that it would be better if all forces were withdrawn to this side of the river before nightfall…'

'That seems sensible,' Arveldir said. 'Can the wounded be moved across safely?'

'The raft will provide a stable crossing for them with care.'

Thranduil heard the stillness following Esgaron's speech and drew his attention back without appearing to have been elsewhere in his musings. He raised a hand.

'Thank you, Commanders. Proceed accordingly, then. Commander Govon, I wish to make known my appreciation of your efforts when I became inexplicably stranded on the raft with my son during the attack. In particular, your warriors Thiriston and Canadion showed unexpected daring. Please commend Thiriston's skills with the throwing knives especially; I expect he has been practising.'

'My king, I will be pleased to pass on such high praise.'

'Very well. You may be about your business – Oh, Commander Govon?'

'Yes, your majesty?'

'Please do not think these unexpected circumstances need alter your new duties; I expect a written report for my advisor as discussed and the ensuing verbal report to be made to my youngest son also as arranged. Is that clear?'

'Of course, my lord king. It shall be as you wish.'


	65. Chapter 65: Night Conversations

WiDS 65 Night Conversations

'If it pleases you, my prince, your father the king has reminded me that I must make my report to you this evening.'

Legolas nodded. He had been about to enter his tent, having just spent an hour sitting with Tharmeduil, and was aware that other eyes were on him than Govon's alone, and so he didn't smile as much as he wanted to when he replied.

'Yes; now is a good time, Commander. Step in.'

Within the tent, the entrance flaps secured, Legolas all-but threw himself to the ground, and gestured for Govon to sit. The commander nodded, and took up a position facing his prince, cross-legged on the ground covering.

'In brief, then, for I have a written copy for you of the report given to Lord Arveldir also… to speak first of our casualties. It is good news that so few were injured to begin – Commander Bregon's recent experiences have stood us in good stead. The stung warriors are improving; they are still unconscious, but they are responding to Healer Nestoril's draughts. Of other injuries, lacerations to hands and, in some cases, heads, are uncomfortable, but, again, our healer has treated them… I will speak to the other commanders with regard to investigating whether some kind of face covering would be of use to our warriors in future encounters…'

'Yes, do so.' Legolas had walked amongst the injured, had seen more than one elf with skin stripped almost to the bone from a cheek, a forehead from flying strands of sticky spider silk… to see such inherent beauty so marred and spoiled… 'They will heal without scarring, Nestoril thinks?'

'Indeed. There is plenty of caul silk, at least, which will aid them in that… I will not presume to announce on your brother's condition, other than to say that Healer Nestoril has said she will not leave him unattended through the night…'

'Yes; I know how he is.' Legolas' voice was sad. 'He will be better, though.'

'Word of Commander Esgaron's scout, too, has reached us. It… it is not good news. The two scouts sent back to seek him had to take cover during the advance of the spiders with the flet guards where we camped last; they had not been expecting so many of the creatures and barely managed to keep out of the way of them, but once the spiders had passed, they hastened on to seek the scout, taking two of the flet guard with them. Esgaron's scout was found, in the forest, close to the first flet in line. From the looks of things, he had still been on the way there when he was… overcome. It seemed he had been in the canopy, and had fallen… he has severe lacerations, has been either stung or bitten, and had injuries from the fall, also. His knives were beside him, covered in blue ichor… Of the six guards on the flet, two were dead and the remaining four badly injured…they are being brought to us, with Esgaron's scout, since there is no healer nearer than our own, but it is a sad day.'

'Indeed. What of the dead?'

'Those flet scouts who found them remained to do all that is necessary. They will get word back to Pedir, also. It seems… unkind to say that they are no concern of ours, but they are not under our command and so we are limited to what we can do and would not cause offence by intervening. By rights, we should not even be bringing their wounded here…'

'Can you imagine Nestoril's face if you had to tell her you'd left the others behind because they weren't our concern?'

'I dread to think, my prince… Other matters. We are well-enough supplied with feed and water for ourselves and our mounts, but may well need to send out a water party tomorrow. If the worst comes to the worst, we can get drinking water from the canopy; there are plenty of bromeliads to harvest. As far as Healer Nestoril's supplies are concerned, seven cauls were collected today, which will help. But two queens evaded our warriors and crossed with a scant score of spiders; they headed off towards the north-west, and it is to be hoped they will keep running and not turn back towards us… as well as my own guard standing watch tonight, Commanders Bregon and Esgaron will station guards all around the camp… two temporary flets have been constructed at either end of the camp and will be populated through the night and the day tomorrow.'

He broke off and shrugged.

'That's pretty much it. It's a good thing we built a few extra days into our schedule; we'll need at least a day to lie up while we lick our wounds…'

Legolas leaned forward, bringing his face close to Govon's.

'Have you any wounds that need such attention, friend captain? I'd like to help, if so…'

He pulled closer to place a delicate kiss on the bridge of Govon's still-tender nose before tipping his chin to find his lips, and the commander swallowed, becoming aware that his report was most certainly over for the night.

Iauron paced in his tent.

It was getting near to midnight but, tired as he was after the excitement of the day, he was too jittery to sleep.

As soon as the spiders had attacked, he'd been hauled off by Tinuon to lurk in a dark space beneath some boulders in the forest margins; he'd not even had chance to collect his bow and his knives… and then learning that Legolas had dashed to the rescue of their father and brother, while he himself cowered like a maiden…

Legolas had been allowed to collect his weapons. Legolas had…

Oh, wait. Legolas had been wearing his bow and his knives from the start; he'd put them on at the same time he'd pulled on his boots… Iauron shrugged a shoulder. But, still.

It was strange, considering they were going on this trip so Iauron could reignite his romance with Arwen, but he felt very alone. Tharmeduil had Nestoril and Father fussing over him, not to mention his siblings, Legolas had Govon…

Suddenly, his tent was far too small for the amount of pacing he felt he needed to do.

Remembering this time to collect his bow, Iauron left his tent and walked the camp.

He found his way to the makeshift infirmary, a series of larger tents pitched so that the inner sides were open, allowing access through. He counted eight occupied pallets and saw Nestoril kneeling beside one of the injured, looking quiet and calm and infinitely gently. She glanced up and smiled briefly before turning back to her charge.

'Do you need a hand, Healer?' he found himself asking.

'Thank you,' she said softly. 'It is time to give more drinks to these warriors; I am finding it a struggle to both raise them, and administer the draught… could you help?'

Iauron crossed over to her and lifted up the unconscious elf she'd been trying to treat, holding his shoulders and brushing the hair back out of the way so that Nestoril could open the elf's mouth and dribbled some liquid in.

'I hope Tharmeduil doesn't draw this in one of his pictures!' he said. 'I'll never hear the end of it, and can you imagine what Arwen would say?'

'I should imagine she would say how nice that you have a sensitive side, even if you do keep it well hidden,' Nestoril smiled.

'Will you be my witness, then? Just in case Tharmeduil wakes up talking about my 'cuddling' Calithilon? '

'Of course,' she said. 'Though you could be forgiven; he really is quite charming when he's unconscious.'

'But the dragons are still coming!'

Tharmeduil found himself sitting upright amongst the scatter of his bedroll, the words echoing in his ears. His heart was racing, his breath gusted in and out of his chest as if he'd been running and he felt sick and scared and he could see nothing except black and red…

'Do not fear, ion-nin. We will be ready for them.'

'Ada? Is that you? I can't see you…'

'Here I am.' Thranduil grasped his son's hand in his. 'You were taken ill again, and have been sleeping for some considerable time. Healer Nestoril is busy with those injured in the battle, and so I have been watching over you.'

'Ai, my face…!'

'Nestoril warned me. A moment.'

Thranduil reached for a cloth and dampened it in the small bowl of water the healer had supplied. Carefully he dabbed at his son's forehead before he rinsed the cloth and gently cleaned the blood away from Tharmeduil's face.

'Perhaps you will wipe your eyes for yourself; I fear to add to your discomfort.'

'Thank you, Ada… the pain's gone, at last.' Tharm took the cloth. 'It feels much better. I need to start drawing soon… will you take notes for me so I don't get lost again?'

'Of course, my son.'

'And what was I saying, when I woke up?'

'That the dragons are still coming.'

'Dragons?' Tharmeduil managed to smile. 'I'd better get the pigment sticks out, then, too.'


	66. Chapter 66: Interlude on the East Bank

Chapter Sixty Six: Interlude on the East Bank

'Come here, penneth-nin.'

Canadion smiled at the endearment, looking under his lashes at Thiriston, sprawling lazily on the smooth surface of the flet.

Although the two were officially off-duty, strictly speaking, they were meant to be within the confines of the camp; instead, in the last few minutes before the midnight watch came on duty, they had stolen the raft and poled back across to the east bank of the river, seeking the shelter and privacy of the guard flet.

The small lamp that was their only illumination lit the big warrior in interesting ways, gilding the bulge and curve of his muscles, caressing his rugged face. Nevertheless, Canadion stayed where he was, although his eyes danced across Thiriston's broad shoulders and powerful torso… it was a good thing they were not on duty, since, it being a very warm night, Thiriston wasn't, strictly speaking, wearing uniform… or, for that matter, anything…

Canadion's eyes dipped lower.

Thiriston opened his arms. 'Come to me, Canadion. After holding weapons all day, I need to hold something warm and living and loving in my arms. Let me hold you.'

Canadion rolled onto his knees and crawled across to deposit himself in Thiriston's naked lap. He gave a satisfied sigh and pressed his head against his lover's chest. Thiriston's hand came up to stroke his hair, the backs of his fingers caressed his silk-soft cheek and Canadion slid one arm around the warrior's back, the other across his waist to meet his hands and interweave his fingers together, encircling Thiriston.

'You did well today,' Thiriston said, continuing the slow sweeps of his fingers. Canadion snuggled in. 'No-one would have known you were…'

'Scared,' Canadion supplied.

'Anxious,' Thiriston corrected.

Canadion pulled his head away from the warm chest beneath his face and looked up into the brown eyes he so loved. He felt safe and comforted and that helped him now.

'Scared,' he insisted. 'Terrified, and you know it. As usual.'

'And, as usual, you trusted yourself to follow me. As usual, you got over the fear.' He smiled down into Canadion's gaze. 'Such pretty amber lights in the eyes of you, even in lamplight,' he murmured, and the next sweep of his fingers stroked down the delicate jawline and under the chin to tip up the generous, rich mouth and claim it with his own.

Canadion lifted into the kiss, his eyes closing the better to savour the heat of Thiriston's lips on his, the taste of his lover's tongue against his own. Strong arms cradled him, gentle hands grazed over the fabric of his tunic, slid beneath to stroke his skin until Canadion moaned into his lover's mouth.

Thiriston's seeking fingers brushed upwards, glancing over a nipple, danced away to the other, slid down over the slim body… the undulations of ribs, the hollow of the flat belly…

Canadion broke the kiss, his own hands urgent now on his lover's back, but Thiriston slid his hands out from beneath the garments to reposition the younger elf so that his mouth found Canadion's ear, lips gently teasing, tongue working so that the slim body arched and writhed in delight as the point of his ear was caught between teeth and tenderly nipped and sucked. Canadion's hands worked down the powerful torso and he shifted his body away from Thiriston's, trying to make room between their bodies to reach down and stroke his lover's arousal, but the bigger elf caught his hands and repositioned him effortlessly on his back. Instead of the wood of the flet beneath him, though, Canadion vaguely noted there was softness – a cloak – cushioning him, but his attention drifted when his melleth began to work on unfastening and removing his clothes, kissing each bared patch of skin until Canadion lay naked and heated and arching towards each touch of lip and tongue.

Thiriston sat back to admire the beauty of the body writhing on the flet. His hands still sought and smoothed and stroked while his eyes looked, while he filled himself with the sight. Canadion was tall, almost as tall as Thiriston, but he was slight, so fragile that, naked, he looked almost frail, calling up a deep need to nurture and protect from the stronger elf in spite of the sinuous strength disguised within the lithe frame. His skin had a tone to it unusual in elvenkind, even amongst Silvans; it was as if Canadion had been in the sun too long and his skin had been burnished to a rich, tawny hue that looked golden under the lamplight.

The bones of his face were fine and delicate; almost feminine, but not so pretty or soft; he had a strong brow that was balanced by the generous, lush mouth and a cleft in his chin that Thiriston loved to lick. The presently-closed eyes did, indeed, have a glint of amber; the brown of each iris ringed with gold and there was something altogether appealing in the mingling of vulnerability and wiry strength that tied Thiriston to Canadion in spite of his sometimes ill-judged flirting. By comparison, Thiriston felt like a scarred old warhorse, and occasionally, in the dead of the night, a nagging voice worried at him… what if, one day, Canadion truly got over his fears and realised he no longer needed Thiriston's protection? What if one day he looked, truly looked at his lover and saw, not a refuge and a source of solace, but a tired and lonely being just as lost as himself? What then?

The delightful body bucked beneath his hands, seeking more contact, more stimulation, more love.

'Saes, Thiriston, melleth-nin! I need you; I need you now…'

Thiriston shook away his fears and turned his attention back to the treasure before him. Now was enough; the future would keep.

'Penneth? It's time to move.'

Thiriston brushed his lips against Canadion's silken hair, traced his hear with a fingertip. The younger elf snuggled and murmured for a moment before coming awake and looking up into Thiriston's dark eyes.

'Must we leave? Now?' he asked, his lips forming a sultry pout.

'Sadly, yes, now. I thought about waking you half an hour ago, but I decided I like watching how you slept so much that I would wait a while…'

'Will we break camp today, do you think?'

Thiriston shook his head. 'No. Word is we're waiting for our sick to recover and for someone to arrive to take care of Pedir's poisoned lookouts. I think it'll be another day or so.'

'And can we come back tomorrow night?' Canadion asked, putting all the appeal he could into his voice.

'If we can get back without being caught out and put on a charge, yes. Come on. Clothes. Now.'

Reluctantly, Canadion stirred and reached for his leggings.

'Thank you, melleth,' he said as he dressed. 'For helping me through my fears. I know you don't have any fears of your own, but…'

'Ai, but I do. Some things make me very afraid.'

'What?' Canadion pushed himself up to stare into Thiriston's eyes; but his beloved was never scared, he was always calm and controlled. 'What could possibly frighten you?'

Thiriston shrugged. 'You do. Or, not you, not really. Your trustfulness. When I heard how you'd flirted with Thranduil…!' He shook his head. 'One day, you'll go too far…'

'Oh, it was nothing! We all know the king doesn't lean that way! I was only trying to unsettle him; it was quite safe… or do you mean you were jealous?' Canadion's tone became lightly teasing. 'I thought jealous Thiriston was an act you put on for me to hide behind? Do you tell me you really…?'

Thiriston silenced him with a kiss, just a brief interruption to the flow of words.

'Jealous Thiriston Cut-Face, he is an act, yes, a pretence to keep others from seeing how the fear sometimes takes you. But this me, scared Thiriston… it's not that I don't trust you. And I know our king would not go there, even if he did have broader tastes than we know… but that you forget not everyone is so. We are going amongst strangers, penneth, and if you misjudge one of these Imladris elves, if you mistime your flirting and I am not on hand, what then? I fear for you, penneth, that is all. And if you were harmed… yes. Then perhaps I would live up to my name, and we are meant to be the Court Guard on a deputation to secure an alliance between one of our princes and the daughter of Lord Elrond, not to become part of another kinslaying. So come. Get dressed and let's get back across the river before we're missed. Just… have a care, love. You are very fair, and would be a great temptation, and l would not have you hurt by anyone.'


	67. Chapter 67: Thinking Time

Day had broken outside Tharmeduil's tent before he finally ran out of ideas and stopped drawing, although he had fallen silent some time previously. Thranduil had written everything down that his son had said, occasionally framing a question in his calm, measured way and noting the answers.

What he had written at his son's request made very little sense to him… there had been a lot about how dark everything had grown, and how Tharmeduil couldn't see through the darkness, but that there was light eventually.

'Done, Adar,' Tharmeduil said. 'Want to see?'

Thranduil rose from his seat, ignoring the ache of bones that had been sitting for too long.

There was a colourful pastiche of many different sketches; dragons, Nelleron… a tent with Iauron and Arwen in, Elrond looking furious… Nestoril looking unhappy, sails in the sky… and large spaces of blackness…

'I lack the skill to interpret this, ion-nin,' Thranduil said.

'And me.' Tharmeduil grinned suddenly. 'I feel better for getting it out of my head, though! Nestoril will go over it with me later.' He tapped a corner of the page which showed himself and the healer working together over a makeshift table.

'You should try to rest now,' Thranduil said. 'It is unlikely we will leave today, but it has been a long night.'

'Hasn't it, though?' Tharmeduil stretched, raising his arms above his head and extending his fingers.

'Tharmeduil!' the king exclaimed. 'Your hand!'

'What?'

'Your left hand – yesterday, you could hardly move it…'

Tharmeduil shrugged. 'I know – almost back to normal! My foot still feels a bit as if it doesn't belong to me, but my hand is fine again. It's odd, isn't it? But I told you I'd be better…' he reached for his other pages. 'It shows it on here!'

Commander Govon came to address the court as they were finishing breakfast; it was the surest way of getting them all together, to wait for mealtimes. Even Prince Tharmeduil was there, looking pale, but in good spirits.

'Having discussed matters together, we commanders have agreed it would be better if we wait here until our sick are recovered enough to go on. There are also Pedir's sentries to consider; although we could leave them with the flet guard here, they will need careful attention for a few days yet…' He tried not to make eye contact with Legolas, but knew his eyes were on him anyway. 'Messages have been sent back. Commander Esgaron will send a team ahead to scout out safe places to stop and to see what damage the spiders have done in the immediate area. Commander Bregon's company will seek a source of potable water for us. Other supplies are more than adequate, and there is a store of dry rations half a day down the trail, so there is nothing to worry about. We will keep a watch around the perimeter of the camp today, however. If anything unusual should occur, please inform one of the guard.' He allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. 'I realise 'unusual' can be subjective, especially in the forest, but if you've any concerns at all, please, let us know.'

'Thank you, Commander,' Thranduil said. 'Let us not keep you from your work.'

Govon nodded, accepting the dismissal, and went about his day. His first duty was pleasant enough; commendations and thanks to the Court Guard for their work the day before.

Summoning them all together in the communal space in the middle of their own little ring of tents, he gestured them to sit and himself took a place amongst them.

'Our first real engagement yesterday, and it didn't quite go according to plan,' he began with a rueful smile. 'But it was hardly our fault that his majesty decided to take his elk boating in the midst of a battle…' He waited for the grins and chuckles to fade before going on. 'You'll have had the full debriefing now, and it really is of no matter that some of us ended up protecting different individuals than planned; they were safe, and that is what matters. Even so, Hador, Tegolon – you were in the thick of it and had your people to protect, which you did. I'm not sure who had the harder job, but you two were in the path of the entire wave, and there was no-one to see what you achieved and no-one to remark on it. But you got your people through the attack unscathed. You did your job.'

'The healer didn't like seeing the creatures die,' Hador said. 'We know she understood the need, but when, afterwards, Esgaron's troops were clearing the eggs into the river, I saw her weeping.'

'It's a task none of us enjoy. In truth, none of us should enjoy it. But what choice have we? It would be little consolation to tell the healer that drowning in sleep in the Enchanted River is probably the most painless death they could have undergone.' Govon sighed. He had wanted to keep this meeting light and cheerful… 'As for myself, I found myself with three royals and an elk in my care, so I was very grateful, Tinuon, Canadion, Thiriston, for your back-up... what did you do with Iauron, exactly?'

Thiriston shrugged. 'I hid him beneath some rocks in the forest where he'd be covered by shots from Hador and Tegolon; he didn't have any weapons with him, and I figured he'd be safe enough, unless he wanted to go after the spiders armed only with his teeth…'

'It was one of those decisions that sometimes have to be made… and I'll admit, I did need the help… By the way, Thiriston, you are the first elf I have ever seen wield an axe and, while I would not recommend such a weapon as standard issue. I was impressed. And so was the king; his majesty made a point of asking me to commend your knife-throwing skills…'

Thiriston's eyes narrowed and he stared at his commander. But there was nothing in Govon's eyes to suggest he'd heard of Thiriston's humiliating target-practice with Thranduil, nothing there except the pleased expression of one passing on a real compliment.

'And Canadion… three cauls, you brought us. All of Bregon and Esgaron's command together only got four between them!'

He smiled at them, reaching behind him to pull a small crate into view. 'When we get home, there'll be time for proper commendations and such. All I can give you right now is my thanks and a few bottles of beer.'

He passed out the bottles and pulled the cork from the neck of one for himself, raising the bottle towards his command.

'Here's to doing our job, and doing it well!'

By mid-afternoon, Iauron was bored. There was nothing for him to do around camp except help Nestoril, take care of his weapons, and annoy his brothers. Since Tharmeduil was resting, he found his way to Legolas' tent.

'You covered yourself in glory yesterday, didn't you?'

'In spider blood, do you mean?' Legolas smiled. 'I wasn't thinking; I just saw Govon leap onto the raft and followed. That was all. If anything, it was stupid of me; I became one more thing for him to worry about.'

'Ha! Did he tell you off?'

Legolas shook his head, slightly shamefaced. 'It was Adar. He cornered me, afterwards. I could have been a 'distraction', if you please… I suppose he's right. It's just… of all the people to side with Govon…'

'It's probably only because your Govon thrashed him in that sparring match! I don't think he'll ever forget that.'

'I know I shall not.' He smiled as he waved his brother to a seat. 'What's this story I hear about you cuddling some of the sick guards in the night…?'

'Don't start! I was helping Nestoril, that's all, and if Tharmeduil tries to say any different…'

Legolas laughed. 'No, he said nothing; Nestoril did, I was simply being inventive… what?' he finished, seeing Iauron's face change. 'What's wrong?'

'It's my fault,' he said. 'If it wasn't for me wanting to chase off after Arwen, there are two guards would still be alive, their families…'

'Don't, Iauron. It isn't your fault. If it hadn't been that flet, they would have been on guard somewhere else when the spiders came through; it's not as if they sacrificed themselves to protect you…'

'But it is. If we'd stayed home… all of this, Tharmeduil being so worried about Adar that he made himself ill and…'

'Made himself ill. Not you. What is it with you today? You normally blame everyone else for everything, not your own self!'

'Maybe it's time I did. What you said, yesterday morning; that I don't stop to think about the results of my actions… well. You've got me thinking now. And I'm not exactly enjoying the experience, but it's not as if there's anything else to do at the moment! What if… what if we get all the way there, and she doesn't like me, or I don't like her…?'

'Well, didn't you like her before? Isn't that what all this is about?'

Iauron slumped.

'It was… different. I thought I was flirting with one of the handmaids, and she thought I was just one of the guards… we laughed a lot. She told me her Adar went around with his nose in a book all the time and never noticed anything that went on in the family, and I told her that my Adar noticed far too much…' He grinned, looking sideways at his brother. 'As Gaelbainil, she was good company for Belegornor… but apart from a few silly little notes she's sent with the messenger hawks, I don't know the first thing about the real Lady Arwen. You met the her, Legolas. How did she seem to you?'

'Ai, it was a long time ago… I think, even as Gaelbainil, you'll have seen more of her personality than I did… I had the feeling she was trying to attract my notice, simply because I was a new face… I hadn't the heart to say anything. I think she was in the shadow of Imladris, if you understand; there's so much learning there, it's a little daunting! You have to get right out into the valley to escape the smell of culture, it's stifling… I do not know, I am probably not much use to you; I didn't pay her much attention.'

'Who did you pay attention to, then?'

Legolas ignored him. 'Do not worry about Arwen. She isn't the only reason we're on this trip, remember – Elrond might know something to help Tharmeduil, and while Adar wouldn't have asked for his help outright, since Nestoril asked her friend and her friend asked Elrond, you and Arwen are a really good excuse for them to consult together without Father thinking he's losing face.'

'I suppose so.'

Iauron didn't seem keen to leave, but he appeared to have run out of things to say. In an attempt to appear busy, Legolas reached for his hunting knives and began to hone them.

'Have you tried that new mix that's going through the camp?' Iauron said, seeing Legolas wiping the blades off. 'Some of the guard are putting sandalwood in with the oil; they say it gives a better finish.'

'Do they so?' Legolas said. 'I wonder who thought that one up?'


	68. Chapter 68: A Possibility of Dragons

WiDS 68**: 'The Possibility of Dragons…'**

It was a further three days before the party broke camp and set off once more into the heart of Mirkwood. Finally, elves from Pedir's encampment had come to take charge of the poisoned flet guards and to take over the installation of, and keeping the guard on the temporary flets.

'But it's no good sticking to the same system,' Esgaron had said. 'Whether relief arrives or not, when it's time to advance, you advance! This system left us without any support on the other side of the river just when we needed it.'

Their own sick and injured were much improved. Several of the company wore dressings on hands or faces, and one bore an eye-patch, although Nestoril insisted bravely that the elf would not lose the sight of the eye in question. Those who had been stung were not up to marching far or fast, and so the Court Guard took turns to give up their horses and lead them. Since Esgaron and Bregon, from whose ranks the injured had come, did not offer their own mounts, Govon realised it would be better not to offer his own.

It made it difficult, too, to properly guard the court, but there were no alarm signals from the trees and such scouts as they had sent out said that, except for the trail of destruction left by the remnants of the fleeing spiders, all was well.

For however brief a moment, all was well.

Govon rode at the back of his command, his eyes moving from his own warriors to the injured on their horses, to the court. His gaze lingered on Legolas, sitting tall and enticingly just out of reach, moved across the Tharmeduil, recovered enough from his attack of illness to be able to ride unaided, and ahead to the king, riding with Iauron at his side.

Presently, Thranduil spoke softly to Iauron, who nodded and held back his horse until Govon reached him.

'Commander, my adar – that is, our king – invites you to ride with him for a few moments.'

'Thank you, my prince.'

He encouraged his horse forward to join Thranduil on his elk at the head of the company.

'My king, thank you for suggesting I join you.'

'I have a question for you, Commander…' Thranduil glanced across and down at him – unavoidable, since Nelleron was considerably taller than Govon's horse – a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. 'A private question, call it rhetorical, if you will, but I wish for a considered reply. What reaction would you expect where you to suggest to Commanders Bregon and Esgaron that they watch the skies for dragons?'

Tempted to ask the king to repeat that, Govon thought for a moment and focussed on the exact wording of the question.

'It was difficult enough to convince them of a potential encounter with the arachnids when it was already known that a large number of the creatures was actually in our vicinity… I should think they would ask me whether I was feeling quite well…'

Thranduil laughed briefly. 'And you, Commander? What would you say if I suggested we might come under attack from the skies?'

'I would ask what you were basing this idea on, my king, and if it seemed at all possible, I would prepare. I would look in the armoury for longer, more powerful bows and consider coating the arrows with something to make them more deadly, perhaps asking Nestoril if it's possible to harvest venom from dead spiders to coat them with. I would commence practice on moving aerial targets.'

'Thank you, Commander. And would your command be equally as amenable?'

'If they valued their status in the Court Guard and had no wish to spend their time on latrine duty, of course… that said, Hador and Tegolon would follow my lead.' Govon considered for a moment. 'If I may say so, Healer Nestoril is a very good long shot, as is your youngest son. Your oldest is better with bladed weapons than the bow…'

'Yes, he takes after me in that,' Thranduil admitted. 'I might suggest, if it were possible for me to do so without appearing to be meddling, that with the right evidence, you might also convince the daring Canadion…'

'And if Canadion listens, Thiriston will be paying attention also…' Govon inclined his head. 'Ultimately, my king, if I were to announce to the company that their king had ordered something, they would, of course, obey. May I ask, is there reason to think there is even a possibility of dragons?'

'Not unless you believe in my son's gift of foresight.'

Suddenly the conversation had gone from improbable to the possible. Govon swallowed as the full import of the king's words fell on him.

'King Thranduil, my Older Naneth had the truesight, so I know such things are possible. More to the point, I have no reason to disbelieve foresight as demonstrated by your son,' Govon said after a moment's consideration. 'So whatever further information I can gather would be useful.'

'When we break for lunch, instead of eating with your command, you will join us. We can begin discussions then.'

Dragons…?

Govon shook his head to himself.

The rational part of him would, along with Bregon and Esgaron, insist there was not even the slightest chance of dragon attack; everyone knew they were all long dead, destroyed or fled, after all. But there was that other part of him, the Silvan with the Older Naneth who'd had truesight enough to prevent him going to war with his father and dying there, the part of him that had seen Tharmeduil's drawings of himself and Legolas, the predictions of the spider migration that made him want to believe it, even while he feared it.

In truth, he thought that was the main reason he was trying deny the possibility of dragons – because the reality of them was just too terrifying to contemplate. After all, how did you even begin to fight such a creature? Rumour had it the King Thranduil himself had done so, back in the First Age… but Govon wasn't about to ask for pointers…

He gave in to the headache he could feel building and tried not to panic…

'What is the matter?' Legolas said from beside him. 'I've been riding next to you for ten minutes and you've neither moved away discreetly nor spoken to me. Are you well?'

Govon glanced at his fëa-mate. There was concern in the clear blue eyes, and he smiled reassurance.

'Yes, quite well. The king has presented me with an interesting intellectual exercise, that is all. In truth, I am honoured he approached me, rather than speaking first to Commander Esgaron who has overall concern for security, but…'

'Is it Tharmeduil's dragons?'

'You know?'

'Mell…'Legolas broke off part way through the endearment. It was so hard to be properly formal all the time… 'Commander, I have been seeing images of dragons for weeks now. Sometimes there are two, sometimes three. Red and black and grey. We were hoping that if enough things changed on the journey, that would, too. But he's sure they're still coming.'

Govon let out a long, slow breath. 'I'm invited to lunch with the court for a proper briefing.'

'Well, something to look forward to, at least.'

'Having to work out a battle plan, in front of the king, with no time to prepare and on the basis of your brother's drawings?'

'I was thinking more of being able to sit beside you while we eat, actually,' Legolas said. 'I'll be glad when we get home.'

'If we get home. With three dragons… what does Tharmeduil say about that?'

Legolas gave a slightly anxious smile.

'None of us have dared ask him about that. Maybe you could?'


	69. Chapter 69: Dragon Dance

The three dragonets ranged and played and hunted through the cold of the northern mountains in uneasy camaraderie. The reunion had not been entirely joyful; Daedor was the biggest of the three, now, and Angrisla didn't like that one bit. Angrisla didn't trust Daedor; Daedor didn't trust Angrisla, and Calernoril was bemused by them both. On one level, she had missed Daedor – but on another, she could not forget her sister's demise.

At the same time, however, she was starting to look at Angrisla and find him wanting. Where was his flame? In truth, he had the breath that stunned and killed. But his lack of fire made him different, and he had the tendency to try tell Calenoril what to do, and she was beginning to find it annoying.

But there was still the joy of the dance, and there were the meaty animals Daedor had found and the prey they sometimes sought, too, so the dragonets didn't starve and were not bored as they danced westwards through the mountains and began to follow their curves and peaks down towards the south.

And they grew. Dragonets? Well, they were still some way from their final stature, still soft and by no means vast. But they were too big now to be considered dragonets. Carenoril was losing the pink tint to her red scales, and in sunlight she had an almost golden glow, and at such times Angrisla and Daedor paused in what they were doing and watched her.

They needed her for something. They just didn't quite know what yet.

'Fur food!' she cried excitedly, standing on her tail in the sky to spin and point her nose down into the mountains to where something moved on passes beneath. 'Little bouncing fur food and big, biting fur is following!'

She angled herself in the sky and tilted herself down towards the mountain, waiting for Angrisla and Daedor to follow.

Lately, they always followed.

She drove down towards the prey and decided to leave the little fur food alone; mountain goats were not even a mouthful for her now; the biting fur food – the wargs – were much more substantial.

'Not flaming!' Angrisla called down to her, and she turned her head and snarled at him. Calenoril liked to flame. 'Flame is seen. Make points come.'

'Make points come! What care I if points come?' Calenoril snapped, turning back to strafe the mountain with her eyes.

'Calenoril would care, if points found her,' Daedor swooped to join her, turning to show the patch on his tail where it was red, not black, where one of the points from below had shot up and into him, causing blood and discomfort until Calenoril's teeth had worked the point – an arrow shot by an orc pack fed up with being stalked by shadows with wings – out of his flesh.

'Biting fur has no points!' she argued back.

'But black-blooded swearing orcs follow biting fur and ride on, at times.' Angrisla flanked her other side. 'Calenoril – not want to spoil fun of flame, but not safe. No points in Calenoril. No red blood from red dragon tail. I… I will breathe. Drop in front of biting fur. You snatch up into sky. No flame. Just power.'

Calenoril grumbled, but she pulled herself up into the sky, gaining altitude and drifting to watch Angrisla at work.

The grey cold drake took advantage of his colour to glide amongst the rocks and scree of the mountainside, blending in and flapping slowly and softly to bring himself over and around and along the valley to come back up towards the wargs.

In the skies, Calenoril and Daedor began to drop down to the rear of the pack.

Suddenly wargs snarled and snapped briefly before falling silent. Some at the back avoided the stunning breath of the cold drake, but as they went to turn, Calernoril's claws snatched one and bore it away into the sky, and Daedor followed suit.

Riding the wind, Calenoril lifted high, squeezing her claws together in the body of the wag until it stopped moving. She left it on a rocky shelf high on the mountainside and dropped back down towards the pack to pick off another warg, and another.

Daedor was feeding from his first kill, the demands of his appetite in response to the hot, sweet blood winning out over his altruism. Let Calenoril hunt for Angrisla; he had fended for himself for long enough without their help…

There were ten or more in the warg pack, and only three got away from the dragons to go to ground and hide from the wings above. Two lay, unconscious, on the pass, and Angrisla tucked in, sating his appetite on one carcass before lifting the other up in his talons and rising to join Calenoril on her ledge.

'Better with not flame,' he said. 'Is more safe to not flame. No need flame.' He butted his bloodstained muzzle against hers. 'You have flame, Calenoril. I have breath. Together, you and I should be you-and-I. No need Daedor.'

He glanced down to where Daedor was feasting on his own kills; he had two, while between them, Calernoril and Angrisla had five warg carcasses to nourish their still-growing bones.

'Daedor not help with kill. Daedor kill for self. Daedor only think of self, not think of you-and-I, Calenoril. Is a word for this: Selfish, that is Daedor.' He extruded his forked tongue to lick the blood off his nose, flicked it out again to sweep over Calenoril's snout in a demonstration of intimacy that surprised them both. 'Not to trust Daedor, Calenoril of the gold-red scales. Daedor will take Calenoril away. His flame will bring the points. Calenoril should not have to worry about points. Let Angrisla's breath protect, Calenoril.'

Calenoril looked down at where Daedor was feeding, head buried in the belly of a warg carcass, and she began to think that, yes, maybe she did need protection. But maybe not just from Daedor.


End file.
